


Super Rich Kids

by AceofSpeight



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Agender Pidge | Katie Holt, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Bipolar Disorder, Cocaine, Crack, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Hawaiian Hunk (Voltron), Heroin, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It all comes together in the end, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Kashmiri Allura, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Marijuana, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Recreational Drug Use, Triggers, Violent Sex, What Have I Done, junkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 100
Words: 47,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9812549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceofSpeight/pseuds/AceofSpeight
Summary: Moments, interweaved, looking into the lives of the Galra mafia and their deranged family.





	1. No lube

**Author's Note:**

> Recommend: Frank Ocean's album Channel Orange, it inspired the title.
> 
> This is a non-linear story, the plot is very mixed up, and the first 10 or more chapters set a tone for the story. If you can make it through those the rest of the story will be eating ice cream in a New Hampshire summer.
> 
> ...I'm going to the special hell for this.

Lance made it look easy, sliding on his dick like it was nothing, like he was riding a slip and slide.

Keith made no move other than to guide Lance up and down against himself, wondering if it hurt as much for Lance as it did for himself.

Sex without lube was nothing to scoff at.

But there was Lance, squinting his eyes shut and riding him like he was on a wave, moaning and laughing with all the grace he had. Granted it wasn’t a lot, but Keith didn’t fuck Lance because he reminded him of Grace Kelly.

Lance squeezed around Keith, who tried not to grimace at the burn he felt. It felt like someone was rubbing a sunburn with a hot glove, so he went faster and Lance let out a whoop. He leaned down, tongue first, dropping into Keith’s mouth where Keith met him with his usual amount of lackluster enthusiasm.

Keith bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood and sucked the cut. Lance wiggled in his lap and Keith didn’t smile. Instead, he fucked Lance just a little bit harder, making it hurt just a little bit more.

After all, what did he care.


	2. Russian Roulette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: violence and blood

Lance shot himself.

It was just in the hand. He was bored and had played a round of Russian Roulette. First shot happened to have the bullet, who’d’ve thought.

Keith watched as Lance laughed while Shiro patched him up. Shiro was bloodier than someone who’d had their skin turned inside out, but no one bothered to question when he felt in the mood to take care of one of them.

Instead, Keith stood on the side of the door, leaning against its frame while Lance bit his lip and winked at Keith suggestively.

Lance’s eyes were dilated and his body shook with pain and adrenaline. Keith shivered, imagining the blood from Lance’s hand dripping on his stomach while they fucked. It would happen, probably in like five minutes. But he would wait until Shiro finished up, if only out of respect.

He knew every second he stayed away from Lance was another second of Lance coming so hard he drooled in Keith’s lap.

Shiro finished up the first aid, wiping his forehead and spreading someone else’s blood further into his pores. Shiro stood up and left the room. Keith smelled the stench of death waft past him, never keeping his eyes off Lance.

Lance grinned at him, white teeth shining as he used them to grab the edge of the bandage Shiro used to patch him up. He pulled, undoing the work that’d been done while Keith walked towards him, with every intention of finishing Lance’s destruction.


	3. Pidge no Pidge yes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: Pidge is agender, and I switch between the pronouns she, he, and they. I'd add others like Xe and Sie but I'm not as familiar with them.
> 
> TW: violent sex, drugs

Pidge was so coked out right now.

Keith laid on top of Lance, hardly bothering to be concerned about the lack of air Lance was getting--he might be choking him, he was kind of high himself he wasn’t sure what was going on--while Pidge walked around the room, taking everything that had a plug in it into her grasp.

“Guys it’s really important we gather all of the electronic energy in the house and use it to the--the project. You know. The one. The one I’m--Keith, Lance can’t breathe.”

Keith looked down at Lance, letting his hand off his neck and Lance’s blue face sank into the pillows, satisfied with pleasure and slowly regaining consciousness.

Keith didn’t stop fucking Lance while Pidge grabbed the lamp by them and then sat on the floor, rocking himself back and forth while Keith continued his own motions.

“The electricity is con-connected to everything you guys. It’s why we’re breathing, you know, it’s why-why-why I’m  _ alive _ ,” Pidge said, taking apart the cord of a lamp by biting it. “The electricity will survive us, it needs to be analyzed. If we can harness the current then we can find--” he whipped his hand out, startled when his hand was cut by the wire, “--the answer to, the answer to, the answer to, the answer to--”

“Life everlasting?” Keith filled in, and Pidge sucked in a breath while Lance screamed in irritation.

“The--the  _ fuck _ Pidge, get--fuck--get out!” Lance hollered over his orgasm. Pidge just twitched and fell to her side, ignoring them both in favor of experiencing the drugs she was on at the moment.

Keith continued to fuck Lance, even though his stepbrother underneath him was pliant and over-sensitive from his orgasm.

Keith bent down and Lance grabbed him, bringing his face to him, slamming their faces in a kiss that was hardly sentimental, more animalistic as they covered their faces in each other’s. Keith bit Lance’s cheek and Lance dug his fingers into the side of his head, moaning all the while.

Pidge laughed below them. Keith moved his glance to her direction and watched as she lifted her hand, waving it back and forth like a flag in the remaining light of the room. The two watched it dance in the shadows, and Keith smiled while Lance licked his neck.

He began choking Lance again, and their game resumed.


	4. Let Shiro work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: violent sex

Lance had been annoying the shit out of Keith all day.

He’d gotten ahold of Hunk’s weed, the special kind from Sinaloa, and he’d been uncharacteristically mopey all day. Lance was often loud and full of complaints, but he usually found a way to channel it into a way to work it off, usually by invoking an adrenaline rush. The marijuana just made him lazy.

So after a few hours of Lance whining and vocally moaning, Keith had decided enough was enough. Halfway through his and Shiro’s meeting he’d grabbed Lance and punched him across the face. Lance had taken the beating, not fighting back in the least. He was thrown around like a doll on a string, turning black and blue under Keith’s punches until finally Keith grabbed him by the back of his neck and leaned him over the couch.

He fucked Lance into the couch, body rocking against Keith’s harsh rhythm. Lance began a low moan, finding pleasure in the pace Keith set, all while Shiro returned to the books he’d been looking at with Keith. He seemed not to notice when Keith shoved his hips so hard into Lance the couch scraped against the wooden floor several inches at a time.

By the time the couch was flush against the side, rammed into the china cabinet causing all the teacups in the hutch to dance on their ledges, Shiro sighed through his nose and looked back up to Keith.

“Think you can keep it down over there?” he asked, rubbing his temple. “I’m trying to go over Haggar’s accounting again. The old bitch is up to something and I can’t figure it out when you’re--fucking--Lance--through--the--wall.”

Keith wrapped his hand around Lance’s mouth. Lance licked his fingers but otherwise his noises were significantly muffled.

“Better?” Keith asked, his voice hoarse and strained.

“Yeah,” Shiro sighed, and went over the accounts again.


	5. Cookie for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are so pure. So pure.

Hunk grabbed his third cookie from his fourth batch, taking a bite of it appreciatively and smiling. Hunk was harmless, docile as usual, testing out his edibles in peace while the rest of the house fell to pieces around him.

The kitchen was always safe though. Had been ever since that time Shiro had barged in with a guy twice his size and had used every one of Hunk’s boning knives to carve the guy’s chest in. Blood had been everywhere while Hunk had been sitting on the counter, mixing a bowl of brownies that now had way too much blood in them.

Shiro had stood up, wiping his face with his sleeve. It didn’t clean anything, really just spread the blood around. Hunk had been unusually sober at the time, but even he could appreciate the art that was Shiro’s face covered in purple-red blood.

“Sorry,” Shiro said. His white hot anger had been turned off suddenly, and he’d stood in the kitchen calm and centered once more. “Won’t happen again.”

Hunk had been promised, and Shiro was always good on his word. Now the only distraction Hunk had in his sanctuary was Pidge. She laid on the table, chewing on a small live wire. It went off and electrocuted her, but it was only a toaster, so the effect wasn’t too harsh.

Whatever. Hunk was too high to care, so Pidge could do what they wanted.

“Pidge have a cookie,” Hunk said. His second batch was surprisingly the best.

Pidge wiped her mouth and looked at Hunk, eyes wide and dilated. She set the toaster down and walked over to Hunk, grabbing a cookie and pulverising it in their hand. Pidge watched the crumbs fall to the floor, and barked out a laugh.

His laugh grew and Hunk found himself chuckling along as well. Pidge kicked the crumbs around with her toe. The laugh turned loud, echoing off the kitchen walls.

Hunk laughed with him, and when Pidge fell into Hunk’s arms, Hunk wrapped his arms around her and gave them a firm squeeze. Pidge leaned his head against Hunk’s chest and fell into a content doze while Hunk rocked her steadily.

Hunk grabbed another cookie, and set it on the counter, to save for Pidge later. In the living room he could hear the results of Shiro’s temper, a snap that was probably someone’s neck breaking.

But Hunk had his cookies and his friend, and the kitchen was warm from the dedications of his oven. Hunk was happy.


	6. Golden child

Keith woke up, but made sure to keep his breathing as slow and quiet as it’d been while he was sleeping.

He could feel Lance’s fingers carding through his hair on the back of his neck, nails lightly untangling the knots acquired during sleep.

The touch was so light it was the only thing he could feel. It was like he was floating on air and only Lance’s fingers were perceptible, and his scalp felt like it was on fire.

Lance leaned closer to him, Keith could feel his breath as he hovered over Keith’s ear, breathing lightly.

He knew Keith was awake.

Keith opened his eyes and looked at Lance through his hazy gaze. The late afternoon light filtered through his vision, and Lance’s face was a mess of shadows, completely indiscernible to Keith. 

But the rest of him was outlined in a white gold. Keith moved his eyes over the glow surrounding his stepbrother, some places brighter, whiter or more yellow than others. Keith glanced up and kept his eyes focused on the sunlight shining through Lance’s hair. He moved his body, leaning back and Lance infiltrated his space, making up for all the open space Keith created.

Lance kissed him and he tasted of morning breath and limes. They’d gotten into the tequila again, he remembered, as he lightly bit Lance’s tongue, not having enough energy to draw blood.

Lance flipped him over and Keith heard him fumble with something before he felt Lance’s wet hand on his dick. He pumped him and then led Keith into him. Keith sighed, sharing his own stale breath, mingling it with Lance’s.

Lance panted over him, legs trembling at his sides while he rocked onto Keith.

Keith looked back at Lance again, watching his thin body shudder in the light. His head moved, allowing the sun to blind Keith through the window.

He stared right back into the light, and grabbed Lance’s hips just a little bit tighter.


	7. Don't talk

It certainly wasn’t the first time Lance had been confined to the hospital, and it wouldn’t be the last, but the fact that Lance wasn’t supposed to  _ talk _ boded a huge problem for everyone.

Lance, who couldn’t keep his mouth closed if he’d  _ wanted to _ , was forbidden from speaking for a full six weeks until his throat recovered.

And wasn’t that just going to go incredibly well, Keith thought dryly as he wrinkled Lance’s hospital bed sheets by clenching them in his fist. Keith reached over Lance and did the only thing he knew to get Lance to shut up.

He settled his mouth over his, breathing deeply and tossing his tongue into Lance’s mouth. Lance sighed, breath becoming heavier as he pushed back into Keith, biting his lips and licking the back of his teeth. Keith returned the favor.

Their noses rubbed together and Keith sucked on Lance’s bottom lip, shoving his tongue back into Lance whenever he thought the noises were getting too desperate, whenever he was concerned Lance would do something stupid like moan for Christ sakes.

He was in the middle of dragging his hand across Lance’s abdomen, pleased when he felt Lance’s stomach ripple in pleasure from the touch, when the nurse walked in and hollered.

“What--wha--what do you--think you’re doing!” she shouted, outraged at Keith, who’d pulled away from Lance to glare at her. Lance was pawing at him, making pathetic noises from the back of his throat that Keith knew were intended to get him to pay attention to Lance again.

“Your  _ brother _ is in recovery and should not be extending himself by  _ making out _ or doing any that might otherwise strain him and hinder his recovery!” she yelled, her face turning pink from anger.

Keith had been pulled by his shirt collar back to Lance, who was kissing his lips and nipping at them in turn.

“ _ Step _ brother,” Keith corrected, then leaned down to suck a kiss onto Lance’s throat.

“I don’t care what kind of  _ kinks _ you two are into but you cannot be--”

Keith rolled his eyes and grabbed a wad of bills from his wallet. He threw them at her, cash fluttering around in various directions. The hundred dollar bills flew around the room and the nurse stood, shocked, rooted to the floor, mouth gaping.

“Unless you want him talking, this is the best I can do,” Keith said and returned his mouth to Lance’s, where it rightfully belonged.

Keith heard the door shut, but didn’t bother checking how many of the bills were missing from the floor.


	8. Broken not broke

Keith paid off the nurse to keep her far away for a full hour. Lance was going to be moved back to their place soon enough, at the end of the day most likely, but Keith didn’t like to wait.

He didn’t  _ want _ to wait.

He lifted his head up again to breath for a moment, then settled back over Lance’s dick, wrapping his lips around the shaft and sucking a bit as he drifted down.

Lance’s fingers carded through his head. The room was finally silent, except for the sounds Keith was making over Lance’s cock.

“K-Keith,” Lance moaned from above, and Keith reached out with his hand, sliding it up from his sides to his head, pulling Lance’s hair. Lance shuddered under his grasp, and his leg twitched a little.

Keith brought his hand back and settled it over Lance’s stomach, holding Lance down. He shouldn’t be moving at all, least of all his legs. It could cause his back to spasm and there they’d be again, forced another week in the hospital for having irritated the healing process of Lance’s broken back.

Keith flattened his tongue and pressed it against the head of Lance’s dick.

Lance cried out, heel digging into the bed a little and Keith pushed against Lance’s knee, pressing it against the bed to keep it from moving.

Keith sucked, slurped Lance’s dick and Lance bucked his hips once, quickly, and came into Keith’s mouth.

Keith sucked everything and then licked at Lance’s limp dick. Lance pulled on Keith hair, bringing him up to Lance’s lips. Lance sucked the cum off Keith’s mouth and sighed, smiling softly before falling asleep.

Keith ran his tongue along the seam of Lance’s lips.

Then he bent down again, settling into his chair, and put his mouth to Lance’s dick again to suck him off while he slept.


	9. Sharing is caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: kinda violent sex

Lance hovers over him, hands on either side of Keith’s head, and spits into his mouth.

It comes down at a slow pace and Keith accepts it into his mouth. Lance follows it up with his tongue and Keith sucks on it until Lance is moaning, rubbing himself all over Keith in an attempt to find heat.

Keith drags his nails down Lance’s back and Lance fucks his tongue into Keith’s mouth. The squelching sound takes over the room as the dominant force and Keith dips his head back, allowing Lance to choke him with it.

Lance moans and melts into him easily, and Keith wraps his hands around him, even wrapping one leg to press him in closer.

All he can smell is Lance. It’s a mix of gunpowder, blood and something sickly sweet he can’t identify. Most likely some of Pidge’s cocaine stash, but Keith doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he lets Lance grab his dick and pull on it hard.

Lance is practically yelling his moans now and Keith keeps his eyes open now, wanting to track every movement.

He doesn’t know what love is, but he thinks Lance’s spit on his face and his hand tugging on his dick is about as close as he’ll ever get.

He feels a sense of accomplishment when Lance presses his lips so hard to his he can feel their skulls give way to their lust. It hurts, it’s painful and his lip splits from the force, and Lance doesn’t even back up as he starts biting his lip, trying to draw even more blood from him.

Keith flips them over, lifting his upper body and staring at Lance with half lidded eyes. Their saliva is still stretched between them, connecting their lips together from even a foot away. Lance shudders a gasp and Keith grins.

He thinks today is the day to see just how far their pain can take them.


	10. Triggered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence

No one knew for certain Shiro’s triggers. They all just knew to act as normal as possible, and usually Shiro never snapped at them.

He’d snapped at Lance, twice, nearly killing him the second time before Keith and Hunk intervened. Both times Lance had been on acid, so they’d decided Lance just shouldn’t take acid anymore.

He’d snapped once at Hunk and Keith both--Hunk when he’d gone into Shiro’s room to see if he’d taken his pot stash, and everyone had learned after that to never go into Shiro’s room. Everyone counted Hunk lucky, since Shiro had just come back from a three-day stakeout, so he’d been exhausted and not at peak strength. Hunk had knocked out Shiro by giving him a particularly nasty concussion and had made it out without only a few scrapes.

The time Shiro attacked Keith was much worse. Keith had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, his blade had shined a particular shade of purple, Shiro said, and Shiro went _ nuts _ . He went after Keith with everything he had, attempting to pummel his insides into dust before Lance had interrupted with a stab between Shiro’s ribs.

Shiro came out of the hospital a day later with dark circles under his eyes and an apology on his lips, though it remained unspoken. He and Keith had an understanding. They were half-brothers after all, and though they hadn’t been entirely raised together, they’d lived with each other long enough to allow each other the space to make mistakes.

Shiro’s outbursts were hardly personal.

The one person he’d never actually snapped at was Pidge. Whether it was because she was too high most of the time to incite harm, or because she was the youngest, no one knew for certain. Each had his own hunch.

Which was why it was surprising when Shiro finally did snap because of Pidge.

They’d been chewing gum, and they’d popped it. It wasn’t an unusual sound, they’d all seen Pidge chew gum before. And they’d certainly heard worse, exposed to guns and hearing them go off nearly daily.

But Pidge popped his gum and Shiro snapped. The chair Shiro had been sitting in flew into the air, crashing into the ceiling, splinters and chunks of wood flying everywhere. Lance jumped up and ran out of the room, probably out of instinct.

Keith rose quickly as well, but stood his ground, watching Shiro throw a violent tantrum around Pidge, hitting everything with his fists, busting up everything he could with his knees and feet. The room was pulverized in his rage and Keith could hear the ringing in his ears, like a hundred sirens calling for destruction.

Shiro screamed and all the while Pidge sat in the center, still chewing her gum. She stood and Keith would’ve reached out, but a piece of wood flew in his direction and he shielded himself from it, covering himself just in time for it to crash into his block.

Keith cringed and looked up to watch Pidge as she approached Shiro’s back. He lifted his small palm to Shiro’s left shoulder, and just like that, Shiro looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. He froze for several seconds.

Dust and splinters settled around them and the deafening silence that came from the sudden halt in clamor was almost a noise unto itself.

Then Shiro’s shoulder dropped, and his body fell with it. He crumbled to the floor with the rest of the destroyed room, eyes fallen shut, tears streaming down his face.

Pidge rested next to him, folding herself to the ground into crossed legs. She placed her hand over his face, drawing her fingers down from forehead to chin. She repeated the gesture, again, and again, and again.

And again.


	11. Drumroll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it this far? Damnnnnnnnn.

Noticeably, Lance was, for once, not touching Keith.

He was also silent, which usually boded terrible things to come.

Keith grabbed his arm and led him to the nearest corner in the wall, backing him into it and mouthing at his neck. He kept his tongue out of the mix, instead just running his lips up and down the line of muscle that connected Lance’s neck to his shoulder.

Lance leaned his head back into the corner and let Keith continue. Several moment passed and Keith was getting ready to resort to more drastic measures, probably violent ones, when Lance finally shot out his hands and grabbed Keith, pulling him flush along Lance’s body.

Lance kissed Keith, open-mouthed and wanting, needy as he wrapped his leg around Keith, pressing him even closer. Their teeth clacked and Lance moaned, falling back while pushing against Keith, wordlessly begging him for more. Keith bit his chin and dropped one hand into lance’s pants, unbuttoning them and grabbing his cock between his fingers.

He stroked lightly and Lance bucked into his hand, panting and fighting for more contact.

It didn’t take long for him to come, but when he did, he seemed just as tense and rigid as before. Keith pressed his mouth the space behind Lance’s ear, then fell back to stare into Lance’s glazed over eyes.

“He’s coming back isn’t he.” Keith didn’t bother posing it as a question.

Lance nodded, swallowing audibly. “He’s bringing heroin, too,” he said hoarsely and Keith closed his eyes, feeling his stomach drop.

It didn’t get much worse than Zarkon bringing heroin to ruin Keith’s day.

Lance dropped his forehead to Keith’s, gently leaning against him. Lance was a couple inches taller than Keith, and it was always when Lance was at his most docile that Keith noticed it.

Keith turned his face and pressed closed lips to Lance’s. Lance didn’t push back, and instead let Keith cover him in a soft kiss they’d both cherish and regret later.


	12. Cum balloon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: drugs (weed)

Keith hated,  _ hated _ , it when Lance smoked pot.

So Lance would seek out Hunk instead when he wanted to get baked. Normally they would eat edibles, but today Hunk decided to light up the bong.

He took a tremendous hit and smiled. His eyes were perfectly pink and his closed smile lined most of his face. Hunk was a happy guy, Lance loved him for it.

Hunk was the best to hang out with. For all the excitement Keith offered, sometimes even Lance wanted a moment to sit, talk, crack a joke. Keith was too stoic to tell jokes.

But Hunk liked to tell jokes. Any kind: knock-knock, fart jokes, existential riddles. Right now Hunk was simply relaying a story about his dealer friend, a stocky Filipino guy named Crank. Crank had a mullet. Crank was hilarious.

“So he--so he, he pulls out the condom, the used condom, and he  _ blows _ into it man. Like, cum is all over his lips, and he--he blows it up and makes me a--a fucking balloon animal man.”

Lance is in tears and Hunk is giggling in his deep voice beside him, belly jumping up and down in amusement.

They’re sitting on the kitchen floor, legs sprawled out before them, leaning against each other. Or rather, Lance is leaning into Hunk, who’s supporting his weight while Lance can barely breathe from laughter.

“But like, he couldn’t make the poodle like he wanted,” Lance drools he laughs so hard and Hunk chuckles beside him. “So it was just like a head and a body, and like, he called it the Loch Ness monster. But like, it’s clearly like a seal or something.” Lance slaps his hand over Hunk’s stomach, tears leaking from his eyes.

Hunk takes another hit, and his laughter fades.

“Wait. Wait,” he pauses, serious. “What’s that noise?”

Lance wipes his face, sniffing. “What noise?” he asks groggily.

“That--” Hunk’s stomach growls and he smiles widely again as Lance explodes into another round of laughter. “Uh, never mind.”

Lance falls to the ground, snickering.

“I guess I could eat,” Hunk shrugs, and Lance will never forget why he loves Hunk.


	13. Lance on top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mention of murder, talk of blood, violent sex

It was one of the rare times Lance was fucking him. 

Normally Lance was the one begging to be filled, biting his lip and giggling when Keith forewent the condom and filled him to the brim with his cum.

This time Lance had him turned over on the bed, stomach rubbing the sheets while Lance lazily pumped into him, like he wasn’t even hard, like he was bored and thinking of something else.

Lance had the tendency to get distracted, but Keith had a suspicion Lance was still high from the kill, thinking about the way the blood had sprayed from their victim’s jugular to spray all over Keith’s face while he’d been interrogating him.

At the time Lance had laughed, laughed so hard he’d began coughing and had to double over to contain himself again. But now Keith could picture Lance above him, spacing out because he’d noticed the way the blood had spattered over Keith’s cheeks, creating pointilism art piece.

Lance was an artist, Keith knew. In everything he did, in all his adrenaline junkie ways, Lance was always looking for the perfect way to express his psychotic fast-paced nature. Blood spattered across Keith’s pale skin was a representation of the art Lance created, as was the way he was fucking him now, slow and unconscious, fucking him like there was nothing else to do, like he was fucking air.

In a moment he would remember where he was again, holler and shout and probably stab Keith with something in the back, just to show him he was his art piece, not some banker they’d interrogated and extorted for months only to turn into dog meat.

No, no, Keith was Lance’s, and Lance was Keith’s.

Lance started building up his pace again and Keith would’ve smiled had he known how. It was his way of knowing Lance had broken out the brushes and was beginning his work.


	14. The blue one

Lance stole Zarkon’s Jaguar. The blue one.

Their father had about five of them but only bothered using the black one--more professional, he said, black invoked fear from the depths, it was most effective for his purposes--so taking the blue one for a spin would most likely go unnoticed.

Lance dropped his foot down, flooring the pedal and letting out a wild whoop when the engine sounded louder and the speed rolled far into the red zone.

Keith grinned beside him, relaxing into his seat the faster they went.

He was surprised they hadn’t crashed yet. But Lance drove the Jag like he was dreaming in vivid color. Everything was smooth but sharply outlined as they sped along the road. Cars honked at them and Keith knew the only reason they hadn’t been pulled over by now was because Zarkon had already bought out the city’s police department.

Lance screamed as he wrenched the wheel to the left, making a turn so tight they ended up doing several donuts in the middle of the intersection before speeding out toward the highway out of the city.

“Ready for a ride, Keith?” Lance shouted over the engine and Keith said nothing as he relaxed into his seat.

They drove for miles and the minutes turned to hours. The sun had long set and now they were well out of the city, heading north along the coast now. Lance took the hairpin turns in stride, whipping around them as simply as if he were doing laps in a pool.

The sun was a long way off when Lance finally pulled them along the side of the road, stopping in the middle of the lane. He stepped out of the car, stretching his arms over his head, and Keith followed suit, cracking his back and rolling out the sore muscles as he walked around the car, setting over the hood.

He watched Lance stare out at the ocean, hands on his hips as he leaned slightly to the side, sea breeze catching his hair.

Lance turned around and faced Keith. He sauntered over slowly, and Keith spread his legs over the hood to accommodate him. Lance put a hand on either side of Keith and grinned as he leaned down, opening his mouth and lacing it over Keith’s.

Keith dove his hand into Lance’s hair, tugging him forward and falling back on the car. His head hit the windshield with a light thud and Lance tumbled after him, laughing. Keith felt his breath puffing short spurts on his cheeks.

Beneath his eyelids he saw a flash of lights and Keith reacted instantly. 

He rolled the two off the car and toward the railing preventing them from falling straight off the cliff and into the rocks jutting out of the ocean. A flailing honk sounded and Keith heard tires screech entirely too close to them, barely managing to avoid the Jaguar and themselves before skidding off.

The car sped off, throwing out a few angry honks and Keith heard a livid, “Fuck you!” called from the driver’s side.

Lance’s face was pressed to Keith’s chest, where Keith could feel him trembling. But then Lance was looking at him again, eyes full of mirth as he rolled onto his back and laughing into the night sky.

Keith couldn’t keep the grin entirely off his face as he watched the stars beyond the trees above them.


	15. Coy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Korean is so rusty. For any native speakers out there, feel free to correct me as needed. I kept the sentences basic for this purpose.
> 
> That said, the Korean isn't necessary to understand what's going on here.
> 
> Bless these sweet babes. <3

Keith stared at the doorway, thinking it was so large he wouldn’t be surprised if the tallest man in the world couldn’t touch the top even if he raised his arms and stood on his toes.

But he tried to focus instead on the boy next to his father, the one with the scar across his face. His eyes were framed in long black lashes but the eyes looked dead as they stared at Keith. It shocked Keith for a moment. Was he even there? Maybe the boy couldn’t see him.

 _너의 형 이예요,_ the translator said. _Your elder brother._

 _차려, 경네!_ Keith straightened and bowed to the owners of the mansion. When he raised his head, the boy was still staring through him.

 _아버지는 정말 바쁩니다. 짜증나마세요._ Keith didn’t bother looking at his father, the man was already walking away. He hadn’t expected much from him. He’d learned not to rely on adults for anything other than survival, although with his father, even that might be an issue.

 _형이 시로이예요._ Shiro. Keith frowned while eyeing the dead-eyed boy again, wondering to himself why anyone would name someone after a color. _질문을 있으면 그사람을 묻으십시오. 다알겠습니까?_

Keith’s frown furrowed further. _한국어 알아요?_ he asked. They were a long way from Korea, he didn’t think anyone aside from the translator at his side would understand him. Shiro didn’t look like he could hold a conversation with a fish, much less help Keith adjust in his native language.

The translator shrugged. His face wore the same plain boredom since he’d taken over temporarily translating for Keith since his arrival.

 _몰라요. 최선을 다하세요._ The man left without waiting for Keith to reply. Not that Keith had anything to say.

He scrutinized the boy as they stood in the room, both silent. Shiro, for his part, seemed intent to merely stand without motive. Keith wondered if he was dreaming and if they were good dreams.

He’d never had a good dream.

Keith jumped when Shiro took a quick step toward him. Shiro grabbed his hand, wrenching it behind Keith and in the opposite direction of the adults. He ran, pulling Keith behind him at a frightening speed, and Keith’s eyes flashed, wondering where the boy was taking him, what he would do with him once they were alone and secluded.

But Shiro led him to the garden, out to a small pool that looked more like a small lake. Shiro leaned down, sinking his knees into the soft grass below them. Keith hesitated, but followed the action. He kept a foot between them, but Shiro had yet to let go of his hand.

Shiro pointed into the water.

Keith watched Shiro’s face for malevolence until the last moment, until his curiosity finally sank its claws in.

He looked into the water, and saw tens, no, _hundreds_ , of koi fish swimming in the water. Each had a different collection of spots and colors they sported, from black and white to pink and orange. They wiggled and squirmed around each other, sliding past and around to continue along their way.

Keith looked back to Shiro and his eyes weren’t dead anymore. He smiled at Keith, and squeezed his hand once before letting go and turning to stare back into the water.

Keith moved to his right an inch, just a bit closer to Shiro. He sat down, hands folded in his lap while he watched the fish swim around and around again.

 _형_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basic translation.
> 
> Translator:  
> That's your older brother.  
> Attention, bow!  
> Your father is very busy. So don't bother him.  
> Your brother is Shiro.  
> If you have questions, ask him (Shiro). Do you understand?
> 
> Keith:  
> Does he understand Korean?
> 
> Translator:  
> I don't know. Just do your best.


	16. Sweets for the sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for hurt!Pidge

Pidge was hardly recognizable as one of their father’s men settled her limp body onto the bed. He was a new guy apparently, since he’d placed her down with actual consideration. He didn’t know this wasn’t the first time, far from the first time.

He walked away, stride a little weaker. Shiro watched him go with a cold eye. He flicked his gaze back to Pidge again.

Her breathing was deep, so deep it would die down until the point Shiro was sure she wouldn’t breathe again. Then it would come, sharp and ragged, lasting scarcely a few seconds before starting over again. Their body looked broken, like a tree struck during a storm. To be cut up, set to the side, rotting away while the forest tinkered on, life abundant among one death.

Shiro walked to her side, dropping to his knees beside the bed, reaching a hand to fall near her mouth and nose, checking for her breath. Again.

He heard shuffling behind him, and he didn’t need to look to see who it was.

“Pidge?” said a small voice. Almost unidentifiable. Distant, wary, frightened. “Pidge?”

Shiro turned and watched Hunk. The usually calm and content giant had a ghost-like complexion. He wrung his hands before him, taking small, stumbling steps closer. He moved forward, nearly shoving into Shiro like he hadn’t known he was there.

“Pidge?” he called again, voice cracking. “You told me to go, but, but Pidge--” His hands fumbled in his pocket and he brought out a small brownie. It had a piece of lint on it, which Hunk delicately plucked off, and offered it to the comatose child before him with both hands. “Pidge I thought you might like this.”

His voice broke and Shiro squeezed his shoulder tightly as Hunk began to cry. From the corner of his eye he could see Keith and Lance hovering by the door, looking in with too much seriousness.

Sadness crept into every corner of the room, but none of them ran from it.

For Pidge, they let it seep into their bones, allowing it to sink into them while their youngest sank into a dreamless sleep.


	17. Dig Pidge dig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay in school kids!
> 
> TW: drugs

Pidge, when she was doing well, preferred cocaine. It just made her think better, see things clearer, the works. She got so much done. Adderall was too weak for him, his headaches were mad strong when he tried, and overdosing was just too much of a risk when he became cranky.

Ephedrine was okay, but it required a prescription and those were a hassle. Good old ecstasy was fun, but only once in awhile. Bank holidays or special occasions only for E.

She  _ hated  _ opiates. They made her nauseous, queasy, and evoked terrible, awful memories.

But she was on some coke at the moment--not the good stuff, but the best she could get on short notice--currently hanging out in the garden behind the mansion. Her hands were buried in the dirt, and she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there.

He dug his hands deeper and made a hole--that’s right, holes, he was making holes, it was important business--and when he was done, a seed fell from above Pidge’s head.

“Next,” the voice above them rang, and they vaguely recognized it as Lance. They moved, shuffling over a few inches and Pidge dug their hands into the dirt again, repeating the procedure.

“How many more rows?” Keith asked, and Pidge realized it was his voice she’d heard, oh right--no, it was both, they were both there. She scratched her nose and sniffed, then moved over another few inches.

“Until we reach the skyline,” Pidge said. “Dreams aren’t easy to grow.”

“I don’t think pennies grow dreams,” Keith mumbled, and Pidge rolled his eyes.

“Of course they don’t, that’s why we’re using nickels.” Pidge widened their eyes and flipped around suddenly, hands encrusted with dirt and mouth in a grim line. “You  _ are _ using nickels right? Copper is  _ not _ a proper metal for this.”

Lance and Keith glanced at each other for a moment, sharing a thought. It happened between them, Pidge knew about them. Everyone did. Everyone knew they were one person. They had two bodies and two voices but they were the same person. 

Pidge scoffed. It was incredibly obvious. 

His nose itched and he scratched it before digging his hands back into the dirt.

Next time she’d break the crystal tumblers to create nightmares for when she needed them. Dreams for her brothers. Nightmares for her enemy.


	18. Bloodbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: murder, blood, violent/crazy shiro

They’d been lazy for too long, Shiro insisted. So they’d gone out, killed a few people. Kept the family name alive.Two young guys in a night on the town.

Shiro was covered in blood from head to toe, drenched in it. Keith wondered how many bodies he’d exsanguinated into the tub to get that much blood. It was up to his ankles if he stood, but currently he was lying in the tub, soaking in the blood and guts of his enemies.

Literally. 

Normally Shiro kept the hands of his victims, but today it was just the blood Keith saw. He wondered if maybe Shiro had taken the hands elsewhere. Maybe he’d already cleaned them out and added them to his collection.

Not that Shiro enjoyed having the hands, or cared about it really. But if there was one thing Shiro, and Keith, had learned from their father, it’s that putting on a show for others did half of the job. And emptying a whole case of dismembered hands to an already nervous underboss? That usually did the trick.

Keith swore he only left Shiro alone for a few minutes, but then, Lance had insisted he take a few lines of coke before he left. Keith tended to forget time when he did that.

So now he watched as Shiro relaxed in the tub, still fully clothed and fully armed, as though he’d had a rather trying day at work and was just blowing off steam.

Then again, that  _ is _ exactly what’d happened.

“We done here?” Keith asked, shaking his head as a particularly sharp sound went off in his ear. Fuck. Ear worms.

“Hardly,” Shiro said. He stood in the tub and blood rolled down him. He shook himself like a dog, flicking blood onto the side of the tub and walls, and onto Keith as he slowly exited the bath.

His boots squelched against the linoleum and Shiro grinned, teeth red and eyes glinting a dangerous authority.

“That was only round one.”

Shiro walked past him and Keith mentally shrugged, following after his half-brother.

As long as it didn’t last a week like last time, he wouldn’t mind a bloodbath himself.


	19. Educational

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNNG: Sexual-orientation slurs. And lance being a fuckin weirdo.

Keith watched Lance roll his wrist. It caused the gun to flop around heavily in his grasp, pointing from one victim to the next. There were only three tonight, but Shiro was on his way anyway. He didn’t usually trust Keith and Lance  _ not _ to kill at least one person, and today they were only threatening for information, so no one needed to be killed.

But oh how Lance was spoiling for a fight.

“Keith did you hear that, babe?” Lance grinned, white teeth flashing in the dim light. “He called us fags. You know how that word makes me feel, huh?” Lance turned his attention back to the man on the far left. He lifted his leg and pressed his heel into the inner thigh.

The man buckled over, nearly retching at the feeling of having his dick ground into his leg.

Lance scoffed. “You know my  _ fag _ brother doesn’t cry when I do that it him. He likes it. Don’t you, babe?” Lance ground his heel in a bit more and then kicked off, almost straightening to his full height, but not quite. Lance always had a jellyfish-like quality to him, he was always flowing and swimming, even through air.

He walked back over to Keith and mouthed at his ear, biting into it hard enough to draw blood. Lance licked at it sloppily, and Keith could hear his smile.

“Wanna give him a show, babe? Let’s show him how fags really do,” Lance turned in Keith’s hold, rubbing against him like a cat as he pressed his back into Keith’s front.

He bent over, torso falling forward and ass pushing into Keith’s crotch. Keith rolled his eyes but his hands wandered over Lance’s backside, appreciating the presentation if nothing else.

“Come on baby, fuck me right here,” Lance said, voice low and dirty, heavy with lust and tight anger. Keith loved to fuck him like this, when he was begging to prove something.

But right now they had a job to do, and Shiro would stop giving Keith jobs if he thought Keith was just going to fuck Lance at every opportunity. He was a professional, after all.

Not to mention Shiro just walked in the door and had a stare heavy enough to set water on fire.

Keith grabbed Lance by the back of the shirt and hauled him up. Wordlessly, he shoved him away, just enough so they were no longer touching.

Lance growled, “Yeah, well maybe Shiro would help me out instead!” Lance threw out his arms and the gun made a clicking sound as he did so. Keith’s eyes flicked to the piece of metal and his eyes narrowed at Lance. He felt heat rushing to his insides; he loved when Lance forgot about the power he so easily wielded.

“Come on Shiro!” Lance shouted. “Fuck me dry while we have this asshole watch us,” he pointed his gun to Keith this time, having forgotten about the reason he was angry in the first place.

Now it was Keith’s turn to get angry. He lashed out, grabbing Keith by the wrist attached to the gun and he pulled him forward. He didn’t do much, just pressed Lance against him, fanned his fingers to stretch over the small of his back while he looked past him to watch Shiro interrogate their victims.

Suddenly Lance was boneless in his arms, whispering heavily into his ear. “You’d hate that w-wouldn’t you,” Lance said, voice stuttering with lust. “Shiro fucking me, touching me, holding me down while you had to w-watch.”

Lance had his hands all over Keith’s front now, running them up and down his chest. “You’d have that look on your face, the pinched one, while Shiro fucked his fat dick into me, taking me on the dirty floor, you’d be so m-mad, so mad…”

He trailed off, but continued talking himself into a climax, needing nothing but Keith’s possessive nature and palm resting above his ass to get him hard and wanting. He rubbed himself against Keith, motions desperate and short, he was almost there.

Keith turned his head and bit Lance’s bottom lip, staring at him all the while. Lance moaned and came in his jeans, falling against Keith, boneless and sated.

Keith licked his cheek before dropping him to the floor. Lance’s arms spread out like a starfish.

Keith joined Shiro and walked to the man on the left, putting his foot back where Lance had left it. He dug the sharp end of his heel into the man’s shaft, and pulled his face into a large grin.

“Educational?” he purred, placing his knife to the man’s throat.

The man wet himself and Keith could hear Lance laughing from across the room.


	20. First addition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence/blood. Honestly if you've made it this far you're a champ.

The first time Lance walked through their door, Keith hated his guts on sight.

Lance was all skin and bones, his nose was red from the coke he’d been snorting--forced to snort by Sendak probably--and his hair was all over the place. It was too long and Lance was too dirty. He’d clearly come from the streets, and Keith was done with that life,  _ done _ .

He didn’t like his family, shit, but this life of money and shiny guns was his and he didn’t need some fucking  _ runt  _ to mess things up.

So he’d ignored him, never bothered to learn his name, while Lance had been high as a kite for the first few months. Shiro didn’t tell Keith explicitly, but it seemed Lance had been adopted into the family and was working off his debt the hard way.

Granted, all of them worked it off the hard way, but Keith would rather be on the trigger end of a gun than made to sell drugs to their city’s kids. He hated talking to people, and guns rather nipped that in the bud.

So when one day he’d found Lance on his bed, shaking from withdrawal and nearly foaming at the mouth, he didn’t particularly care. He just threw Lance off his bed.

Lance fell hard. Keith heard his nose snap and looked down to see blood dripping onto the wooden floor. Keith growled and kicked at Lance, who merely rolled where Keith’s boot guided him until he reached the end of the wall.

The whole time Lance’s bloodshot red eyes followed Keith. It only served to make Keith more angry. He wretched back his foot, aiming a supreme kick to Lance’s stomach when Lance opened his mouth and coughed out a word.

Keith didn’t recognize it. He paused, dropping his foot to the ground. Lance repeated the word and laughed. Keith pursed his lips when he realized Lance was speaking Spanish to him. It made Keith’s heart clench in a way he didn’t like.

Keith leaned down and grabbed Lance’s arm, tugging him roughly toward him and away from the wall. He dropped down over him, one leg on either side of his body and ignored the way Lance’s body caved when he sat on his chest.

He pressed his thumbs to Lance’s nose, and without warning, snapped it back into place. Lance cried out, probably cursing at Keith in Spanish, but Keith was done. He stood and walked to the bathroom to wash his hands.

When he returned to his room, Lance was sitting up and leaning against the wall. His hands shook. A line of blood trailed from his nose to his mouth. He grinned.

He lifted one hand, turning it and wagging his fingers back and forth, beckoning for Keith to come.

Keith obliged, and the two punched, scratched and scraped and clawed at each other, until their bodies fell from exhaustion.

When Keith closed his eyes to fall asleep on the ground, Lance was still staring at him with a mocking simper and wide blue eyes.


	21. Cleopatra

Looking at her was like everything Shiro had known ceased to be true. He had to think a minute. Was she actually as beautiful as he imagined? He looked around him, wanting to ask the nearest soul to confirm what he saw: “Is she good-looking? Is she as stunning as I’m imagining? Is she real?”

Shiro had gone to the club opening as a hired goon, there to ensure no hiccups ensued during the evening. Normally he’d send a lower ranked crew-member to do it, to supervise a group of thugs as hired bouncers. But Lance wanted to go, and where Lance went Keith was dragged along. It was a good enough excuse to keep tabs on the lower ranks for Shiro.

Keith and Lance had taken off an hour into the job, probably to have sex in the bathroom, and Shiro was outside the main dance floor, surveying the newcomers.

Last call was in thirty minutes, but the place still rampaged. Bodies squeezed and meshed together, flowing homogeneously and Shiro traced her form with his stare. Her white-blonde hair was fixed on the top of her head in an elaborate bun, shining silver in the club’s strobe lights.

Her body--Shiro’s eyes almost rolled into the back of his skull--was an honest-to-god work of art. He wasn’t a poet, or a critic, but he knew what he saw was beyond him. Shiro had never physically seen a woman with such elegant curves, and her dress hid nothing--yet everything--she had. Shiro imagined licking a line between the dip of her shoulder blades and he shuddered. 

Her eyes-- _ oh _ her eyes--Shiro never thought he’d see such a crystal blue in one stare. Even Lance’s eyes looked dark in the club, but her eyes shone, beckoning him. Her dark skin and black eye-makeup made his vision to tunnel, falling full speed ahead. He couldn’t think--couldn’t  _ breathe _ \--until he knew her name. Kissed her lips. Called her his.

“Excuse me miss.” His voice was so low he didn’t expect her to hear him, but her eyes flicked toward him, pinning him down, in such an incredibly quick motion it contrasted against the fluidity of her body’s movements.

He wanted to say something, anything, to ease into a conversation. He gaped desperately. 

“What’s your name?” he asked. His mouth dried out. He felt his soul slip from his breath, ashamed that he couldn’t even think of a way to grasp her attention. He had no charm, nothing except his own stern countenance and there was no reason for a woman like this to even look at him. There’s no way she’d humor him with an answer.

But she did.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips opened, revealing polished pearls of teeth. “Allura,” she said. And Shiro was lost.


	22. Estrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Native Spanish-speakers: feel free to correct any poor grammar. 
> 
> Warnings: talk of suicide (in Spanish? Does that count?) and Lance of being totally tasteless.

Lance leaned against the door of the taxi and sighed. He felt like his brain was leaking out of his ears, spinning and swirling and excreting from his pores like jelly.

He smiled as he jolted slightly when the cab hit a pothole, sinking lower into his seat and sprawling his legs farther along the seats.

“ _Aye, alguna vez ha' deseado matarte?”_ he asked the cab driver. He liked throwing people off guard but this one only groaned. Like he’d heard it all before, like he drove drunk assholes who contemplated suicide all the time.

Actually he probably did. Lance chuckled, voice pitching and gurgling in his throat.

“ _No e', no e' porque dete'to mi vida,_ ” he explained, trying to get the driver to see his point of view. _“Realmente solo tiene la necesidad que tocar las estrella', comprende'?_ ”

He’d always dreamed about his death. He liked living, he did, but one: he needed to leave behind a hot corpse. Two: he definitely needed to beat Keith in terms of dying an awesome death. Three: he needed to puke.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his head across his chest before throwing it back. It slammed against the door and he moaned, adjusting his legs and trying not to throw up in the moving vehicle. He wasn’t normally so considerate, but he was wearing Shiro’s shoes, and who fucking knew what triggers that guy had. Maybe puking on shoes was one.

“ _Escuchame chico, necesitas a_ _Jesus. Encuéntralo,”_ Lance wanted to laugh but he was too drunk and now he was seriously concentrating on not ralphing on himself. Like “finding Jesus” was going to help with that.

 _“E'tà bien todo,”_ Lance grinned and whined at the same time, relishing in his pain and breathlessness. " _Lo encontré--el cielo. E' en mi' pantalone'._ ”

He laughed too hard and the driver shook his head but laughed with him. Every man could appreciate a good dick joke.

He settled against the door again, nodding off as the heavy weight of the taxi swayed back and forth between traffic.

If he were to commit suicide, he's probably use cyanide. There was just something poetic about being a brown boy in a mob and dying like Romeo.

He fell asleep in between one breath and the next, letting loose one last chuckle when he thought about how angry Keith would be when he found out he’d left him at the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough translation:
> 
> Lance: You ever wanted to kill yourself? I mean I don't hate my life, I really just want to touch the stars.  
> Driver: Listen bro, you need Jesus. Find him.  
> Lance: Aw it's all right, I already found it--heaven. It's in my pants.
> 
>  
> 
> Special note: for anyone curious as to _why_ I feel the need to have these characters speak their native language, it's because I really feel like having these characters in these identities...like language is a huge part of that. I speak a few myself, and honestly it _totally_ changes one's perception of oneself. I have Korean Keith speak Korean because he's Korean, it's the language he grew up thinking in, which plays a HUGE role in who he is. Same goes for Lance, and for Allura (who will speak Urdu oh god help), and Shiro (Japanese?! Help me?!) and Hunk (Hawai'ian...oh man. Oh I'm so sorry Hawai'i).
> 
> Anyway, I feel it's important that these characters are represented using the beautiful tongues of their cultures, and for anyone who finds it irritating, seeing as I'm probably making tons of mistakes, please know that I do this with the utmost sincerity and respect for these cultures.


	23. Welcome I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: cults, knife cut/blood, idk guys i don't wanna spoil all the fun ;)

His palms were sweating.

Shiro wanted to scream and run but he didn’t move. He stood where he was left after one of their crew led him to the entryway. Now Shiro was left to stew and wait it out. He knew it was supposed to make him nervous, but now he was just angry. He wanted to lash out, break the nearest jaw, slam someone’s fingers in a door--his own if it got to that point.

But he couldn’t. It was his time, and he couldn’t let his temper get the best of him _now_ , not when he was this close.

The minutes ticked by and Shiro began to sweat all over. His upper lip was beading moisture and his collar stank of his musk. Through it all, his eyes remained on the darkness. Waiting.

When the door opened, it felt more like an hallucination. Hands directed him into the room, sat him in the chair.

Sendak sat on the far end away from Shiro, beside Thace. Across Thace sat Haggar. Her face was shrouded in her own hair, and Shiro grimaced looking at the witch. He hated her, every part of his body rejected her worn skin, mottled teeth and piercing eyes. But she did much for them, and his father would use her until the very end.

His father was there.

Shiro was given a knife and with it he sliced his palm. It stung, but he made no show of pain. He squeezed his hand into a fist, and held it over the chromium-made lion. The thing was ancient and kept in the bowels of the mansion. But it was perfectly unvarnished, even by the blood spilled on it with every initiation.

“I am one of a whole,” Shiro repeated the words. They were familiar, but exciting, since they were his now. “I am part of an army. A sliver of a cause.”

Shiro felt his voice tremble so he stopped. He couldn’t have this memory tarnished by  insecurity.

He stared at the lion. Its body was coated in old brown blood, and now a new layer dripped onto its back, Shiro’s blood. Shiro would bring a new age to the Galra Dynasty. Not a new chapter, but a whole book, a tome of righteous deeds that would bring them all honor and glory. History would be his to claim, not his father’s.

He moved his eyes past the lion, into the darkness, where his father was. He kept as still as the lion itself, but felt colder, as though the lion itself had more blood than Zarkon had running through his own veins.

“I am Voltron,” Shiro said. “I am the defender of this universe.”

“Vrepit sa!” shouted invisible beings from the shadows, and Shiro felt his skin flame, his whole world was on fire.

Across the room, Zarkon moved forward, closer, allowing his face to be seen in the illumination of the single candle on the table.

His lips moved slowly, opening and Shiro felt the chill, the rush, the encapsulating power from just that small movement. The words fell from his mouth, smothering the room with their potency. Zarkon spoke, and the world shuddered.

“ _I_ am Voltron,” he said. “Defender of the universe.”

Shiro’s mind screamed at him as Zarkon fell back into shadow. It screamed at him for partaking and becoming part of something that wasn’t his. It screamed hoarse and ragged, until Shiro’s mind went quiet and all that was left was a broken boy sitting in a dark room, taking part in something he never wanted, but now belonged to him.

_Vrepit sa._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right! Voltron's a cult. :)
> 
> Next time: Lance and Keith discuss Ryan Lochte.


	24. A Discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: honestly none...? Oh except cocaine usage.

“Well what do you know about aquatic-based sports?”

“One: they’re done in water. Boom. Two: they require upper body strength which, spoiler alert--you don’t have.”

“I have enough to pull this trigger and shoot your ass.”

“But then what would you fuck?”

“Your mouth.”

“That’s...a good point.”

“So let me get this straight, since you’ve started watching the Olympics all of two hours ago, you think you know enough about freestyle swimming to be Ryan Lochte’s trainer?”

“Not trainer--agent. There’s a difference, jerk.”

“Okay, agent. And you’re still qualified,  _ how _ ?”

“Simple. I know competition. I know water. I know women.”

“You know women? You literally just took my dick up your ass and came without me even touching you.”

“Okay first, for your dick to be up my ass that means you’re touching me. Second, that doesn’t mean I don’t know women. It just means I appreciate a good fuck when I get it. Third, I  _ know _ women.”

“Stop listing things you asshole.”

“You’re just upset because I’m winning the argument. Like always.”

“You have never won an argument against me. You haven’t won an argument against  _ Pidge _ .”

“Okay I win arguments against you all the time, and  _ no one _ wins against Pidge, she’s a genius and you know it.”

“Name one time you’ve won an argument against me.”

“I thought you were sick of me listing things? Because I could go all day.”

“I’m hearing words come out your mouth but none of them mentioning when you’ve bested me in an argument. Oh, I think I just won another one against you.”

“Oh yeah? How about yesterday? When I beat you in the drag race?”

“ _ First _ , that’s not an argument.  _ Second _ , you did not beat me. You shot my tires in the last ten yards.”

“Okay I see your point about the listing things, but  _ so _ ? I still won.”

“By cheating.”

“Still counts. All’s fair in love and war.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“No, just horny.”

“That, too.”

Lance paused while making another line of coke, staring at Keith with wide blue eyes. His hands were shaking and he still hadn’t realized the TV was on mute. “Wanna fuck?” he asked.

Keith rolled his eyes and pushed Lance off the couch. “Fuck you.”

Lance sighed, rolling his shoulders and smiling. “Always.”

Keith sniffed and shook out his head, annoyed by the ringing in his ears. “Wait, what do women have to do with Ryan Lochte anyway?”

Lance rolled himself up lazily and snorted the line of blow. He shivered and then chuckled low and condescendingly. “Oh  _ Keith _ ,” he said, grinning up at him. “How little you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Allura being a BADASS (aka being Horrible Person)


	25. The Pitiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Death, Psychopathy

Allura’s gun sang in her hand as she fired the shots into the kid’s skull. He wasn’t much younger than she was, but Allura had seen more than most people, so she considered most people children.

Beside her stood Shiro, steadfast yet...uncertain. He knew what he’d gotten himself into, she had no sympathy for him. He was a traitor to his own to be sure, but as long as he never betrayed Allura, she couldn’t quite bring herself to care the damage she wrought upon him.

For Shiro’s sake, it was best that way anyway.

“P-please,” said the next victim. Spittle dripped from his lips and Allura felt her lip turn into a sneer. Begging for their lives, people looked so pitiful. The only person she’d ever respected in her death had been Nidhi. Nidhi had never groveled like this.

“I-I’ll give you intel,” he begged. She reeled in her expression, tempting him with a chance he never had. “I can spy for you. I can do it, Shiro can vouch for me. I don’t care for Zarkon, but--” he gulped, sniffled, “--but I have a family. A young one. Please--don’t do this.”

Allura looked at Shiro, turning her face so the man wouldn’t see it.

“Should we give him a chance, Shiro? You can vouch for him, he says?” she asked with dry amusement. It was a game she was drawing out, if only to give her trigger finger a rest.

“Sh-Shiro, I promise, I can help you out. I’m just here to take care of my family, I’ll do it in any way I can, please--”

“Shame, then,” Allura said, turning back to face the man gasping for his life. “That I’ve already killed them. I suppose I could’ve used them as leverage.”

The man’s eyes widened so much Allura wondered if it hurt.

“...You…” he breathed. His voice was almost drowned out by Allura walking closer and pointing the gun to his forehead.

“If you don’t want to be a victim,” Allura said, her eyes glowing in the dim light. “Then don’t be a target.”

She pulled the trigger.


	26. Closure, of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit sex, sociopathy, language, funeral

Lance sat on the other side of the car, long legs crossed at the knee with his hands resting lightly on top. His face pointed toward the window. He looked older, Keith thought. The solemnity of his silence, the straight posture he kept as he rode away from the graveyard, it all pointed to the assumption Lance was more mature, older than his 17 years.

His face had a grimness to it Keith hadn’t expected from him. He’d come to expect the unpredictability of his partner, but the loud energy he usually evoked with every movement wasn’t there today as they drove back into the city.

“He’s dead then,” Lance said, and Keith turned his eyes to him without moving. Somehow he thought moving too quickly would upset the beast and cause this fragile silence to cave in. “Really dead.”

Keith said nothing, and Lance continued to look out the window. It was too bright outside for Keith to see his reflection in the window, so instead he looked past the driver and followed the car’s direction as they waved through the steep hills toward the mansion.

Keith saw Lance flinch out of the corner of his eye, a shock of movement, and then he was still again, and Keith waited.

The car slowed down to take a corner, and Lance was on Keith in a second. His limbs curled around him, pulling at his clothes and his hair and Keith had to pull himself forward to allow Lance all the space he demanded.

Lance’s breath was hot in his ear as Keith moved his hand to grab Lance’s thigh and swing his leg around him. Lance dug his nails into Keith’s shoulder and Keith sucked his neck, tonguing and biting it while Lance laughed in his arms.

“He’s  _ dead _ , Keith,” he was hysterical, and Keith nosed at his hair, shooting a quick “Keep driving!” to the driver when they got too close to the mansion.

“He’s dead, Sendak is  _ dead _ ,” Lance pulled at Keith’s hair but Keith refused to let up on Lance’s neck, determined to mark him with several purple bruises before their ride was over. “Keith, fuck me now.”

Keith obliged. He pulled out a condom from his pocket and tore off the aluminum between his teeth. He made quick work of getting off Lance’s pants and slipping the condom on. Keith lifted him and brought him into his lap. Lance’s hands clung to the back of his neck and leaned forward, giving them more weight toward the back so they wouldn’t fly forward when the driver had to brake.

Keith slid inside him without any preparation. Lance moaned, letting out a breath that spread all over Keith’s face. Keith gripped his hips hard enough to bruise and lifted him off his cock then slammed him down, over and over, hard enough he began to run out of breath after only a minute.

Lance hardly helped him, just followed Keith, letting him plow into him and only squeezing his fingers tighter onto Keith’s neck. Keith reached his mouth up and bit at Lance’s mouth, and Lance leaned down and laced their lips together in a long kiss.

Keith was at his end, he could feel sweat beading at his temple and Lance was more undone than he was. A few more, just a few more…

Lance came and fell on top of Keith. They dropped to the side and Keith felt his dick pulse twice and then he came, too.

Lance’s weight felt heavy on him, and his body felt so close it seemed like it would take machinery to pry them apart. They stayed like that, until Keith heard the driver finally pull into the parking garage and exit the car.

Keith managed to pry himself from Lance’s limbs long enough to pull out of Lance, then remove and tie off the condom, dropping it to the car floor.

They slept there until dawn broke, and pink light filtered through the garage windows.


	27. Keiki iki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: racism, Ace ruining Hawaiian, Hunk being SWEETNESS INCARNATE <3

“Aloha kakahiaka e kaikuahine,” yawned Hunk to his sister. His eyes still felt sticky so he pressed his fingers to them, scratching and rubbing until he felt like he’d made a difference.

“Aloha ahiahi,” she replied, slamming the door in his face. Hunk frowned. It was nearly ten o’clock in the morning, and his sister was  _ just _ going to bed? She must’ve been out late, he thought to himself as he scratched his nethers while heading to the breakfast table.

“Aloha kakahiaka e kupunawahine,” Hunk smiled lazily as his grandmother, who puttered around the kitchen, chewing on old tobacco while she made breakfast.

“Aloha e Hunk iki,” she said, smiling at Hunk through misty eyes. Her skin still glowed and shined in the sunlight like Hunk could always remember it doing. It made the room brighter somehow, and Hunk grinned back at her.

He jumped onto the stool and put his elbows on the bar. Before they could settle however his grandmother smacked them with a wooden spoon, scowling and admonishing him. Hunk sighed. He always forgot about the no-elbow rule during breakfast.

“ Ua hoopunipuni mai olua ia’u,” she said, voice low and grounding. Hunk froze. His sister had been caught by their grandmother then. God, how stupid could Maile be? Why hadn't she come in from the back?

Hunk hated covering for his sister, but he didn't make the Sibling Code, he just followed it. Hunk rubbed his eyes again, cowering before his fuming grandmother.

“‘ Aʻole maopopo iaʻu kupunawahine,” he whined. “A’ole ho’omana’o.”

She snapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth and Hunk gazed at her with large brown eyes, one hand still administering to the gunk in an eye. She tutted and resumed her business, ignoring him all the while.

His sister had gone out again, with the new boyfriend. Grandmother hated that boyfriend, but Hunk was too afraid of him to hate him. He had nasty tattoos all over his head, ones he’d seen in his history book. He liked his sister because she had lighter skin, “the right skin,” he told Hunk.

He called Hunk nasty, words Hunk had never heard used in his household.

Hunk’s home was full of love and kind words, he had no idea what had brought his sister to this dark man. What darkness could be so tempting it took away your desire for warmth, happiness?

He looked at his grandmother, and then down to his knobby knees. He was starting to grow now that he was changing. Grandmother promised he’d be big and tall. Hunk thought about his sister’s boyfriend, and he grimaced. He couldn’t get big soon enough.

“Kupunawahine,” Hunk called to his grandmother softly. She made a soft noise in acknowledgement but didn’t stop stirring the poi. “ Heaha kou manao no’u?”

His sister’s boyfriend thought he was nasty, his sister seemed not to care about him, and his grandmother loved him...but what did she think of him?

His grandmother stopped stirring the pot. Hunk always tried to be subtle about his feelings, but she was looking right through him now, like he were made of glass. She pinned him and right there, Hunk wanted to cry.

“O ‘oe no e kanaka,” she said, and Hunk furrowed his eyebrows, confused. His grandmother always had an old fashioned way of speaking, but she was never usually so vague.

“‘Ha?” he asked.

“E oi aku lo oukou maika’i i ko lakou.” Hunk stared at his hands, and his grandmother covered them with her own, soft and wrinkled, and perfect, since they were the only ones Hunk knew cherished him.

“Keiki iki,” she said. “Makana o’e, ikaika o’e.” She ran her fingers over his face, from the top of his forehead to his chin, and repeated the gesture twice more, until Hunk was melted butter under her palm.

“O ‘oe no e makamaka,” she prophesied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation (approx.):  
> Hunk: Morning, sister  
> Sister: Good night.  
> Hunk: Morning Grandma.  
> Gma: Good morning little Hunk. You two lied to me.  
> Hunk: I don't know Grandma...I don't remember. Grandma, what's your opinion of me?  
> Gma: "Thou art the man."  
> Hunk: Huh?  
> Gma: Your goodness will surpass theirs. You are kind, you are strong. You are the closest (intimate) friend.
> 
> Fun fact! Hawaiian doesn't have the verb "to be." :)


	28. Summer, before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: literally nothing?!?

“Wow Katie, way to go,” Katie spoke quietly to herself, mumbling and muttering a few curses when she realized her stupid mistake.

She’d just purchased the nearly 50-year-old film camera and it was already getting the better of her. She sighed, at least grateful she’d probably only underexposed about five photos before she’d realized that the tiny circle in the center was supposed to be entirely clear before she shot the photo.

“Yeah Katie, way to  _ go _ ,” teased her brother and she swatted at him, sticking out her tongue impetuously.

“Yeah, well you won’t be laughing when I send that picture of you with the chopsticks up your nose to Margot,” she stood with her legs apart and hand on each side of her hips, smiling triumphantly as her brother’s laughter evaporated. His face grew eerily still as he stared down at his little sister.

“You wouldn’t.” Katie grinned. “You  _ would _ .”

They tussled, Matt pulling her hair while Katie used her small fingers to dig into the corners of his mouth and pulling sideways when their dad hushed them and waved to grab their attention. “Look kids! It’s the old prison!”

He snapped his own photo quickly while Katie struggled to get her camera to eye level and find the shot she wanted.

“You know they say there’s great white sharks in these waters,” Matt said in a voice that was more wondrous than teasing.

Katie frowned. “There’s no way there are great whites. You’d hear about kayaks getting swallowed up in the news all the time,” she reasoned.

“Yeah well maybe they do, they just keep it on local news. It’s not like we hear what goes on here from where we live.”

Katie rolled her eyes and scoffed, but silently admitted his point. It was true, since they lived clear across the other side of the country, that they had no idea about the goings-on that wasn’t about which new local organic farm was now making town news for some fantastic new bug spray they made out of blueberries.

She really needed to get out of Western Mass.

“I don’t know about great whites,” said her father, dropping a hand to Katie’s shoulder and squeezing. “But I do know whales can be seen migrated down these parts during springtime. Close enough to see from shore.”

“Really?” Katie asked, eyes lighting up. She’d recently done her sixth grade science project on the blue whale, the largest mammal to live on earth. “You know the blue whale’s heart can weigh--”

“--As much as a car, yeah,  _ we know _ ,” Matt scoffed and Katie pushed away any momentary indignity to stare out at the water again. The wind whipped across her face, turning her long hair into a bird’s nest, and her nose felt like it would freeze off despite that it was late summer.

She leaned over the railing and felt her stomach dip when she saw the churning waves below her. Her father grabbed the back of her jacket, squawking out a, “Careful!” while she giggled at the feeling of flight.

He would catch her if she fell anyway, she knew, or Matt would. 

That’s what family was there for: to watch you fall.

Then catch you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll start updating in spurts. See you in a few days!


	29. Subliminal subordinate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: explicit het sex, super mild sub/dom

Allura made love sloppily. Her movements jerked and her mouth fell open without any regard to who might be watching. She gave no show, she only basked and drowned in her own pleasure, and Shiro loved it,  _ loved it _ , sometimes more than he enjoyed his own pleasure.

He ran his tongue over her clit and pressed on it, rolling the muscle and putting pressure against her most sensitive delicacy. She cried out, squeezing her thighs around his head and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, before she threw her legs open again and pushed herself harder into his face.

He complied readily, sucking and lapping between her legs, gripping her ass in his fingers, gasping into her. She was so warm beneath him, and glowing like a furnace. She writhed when he increased the pressure and then let up entirely, smiling when he saw her shudder at the instant cold she felt when Shiro gave them space.

She reached down and grabbed the back of his head. Her eyes shined in the dim light as she directed his head not-so-kindly down and Shiro felt himself get even harder when she tugged his hair to force him to comply.

Not that he needed any forcing.

He pushed into her with his tongue, ignoring the tickling of his nose from her hair and instead used his thumb to rub against her clit again.

Allura jerked and moaned. She stuttered in her movements; her hips came up to fuck his tongue and then fell down again, like she had no energy, nothing left to offer for pleasure. But she would rise again and Shiro met her, crashing into her like waves, undulating and relentless in pursuit of more, more,  _ more-- _

She screamed and he used his teeth--

He couldn’t breath but he closed his lungs for her, giving it to her--

Allura crashed and Shiro went with her, falling, slipping, stumbling and aching--

Shiro was thrown aside.

He watched as Allura removed her legs from the bed first, rolling and then standing. She took her time, casting her eyes around the room to search for her panties. She found them and stepped into them, and Shiro followed her with his eyes the whole time. He had yet to come, but seeing her move was so peaceful, he wasn’t sure he ever cared if he came as long as he could watch her.

She turned to look at him. She raised an eyebrow and walked out of the room, leaving her bra, her shirt, her pants, and only taking her coat.

“See you next time, Galra.”

Shiro saw her ankles cross the threshold and heard the door slam just a bit too loudly for the others not to hear.

He replayed her pleasure again in his mind, again and again, but he never came himself.


	30. Cuddlebug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: cocaine usage, Keith being a jerk lmao, and puke ew

Lance did an entire eightball of cocaine. The  _ entire _ thing. He snorted several fat lines, all in a row, hardly pausing or stumbling in his effort to apparently get high as  _ fuck _ and then die, or something.

Honestly Hunk had never seen anything like it. Even Pidge was impressed. Impressed, before she got pissed at Lance for hogging it all. They’d only asked for one, but luckily Hunk always brought his own stash of weed, and he was willing to share with his best customers.

And damn were the Galra kids his best customers.

He’d gotten the hook up through his friend Crank, a fellow dealer. Hunk had his own territory, but the most recent dealer to service the Galra kids had been shot in the face when the Crazy One--whom Hunk now just called by his name, Keith--did something he didn’t like.

He got an explanation later. Keith told him he had said “something stupid.” Although, knowing Keith, that didn’t really narrow the field.

After that, no one wanted to deal to them. Of course, everyone  _ had _ to, but it was pretty much a one-time deal. Give them the drugs because they threatened you to, then get the hell out of dodge.

Crank had mentioned they were in need of a full-time dealer and Hunk stepped helpfully to the plate. As far as he knew, he didn’t say stupid shit. Not out loud anyway.

And turns out it was a home run. Not only were the Galra kids his best customers, but they were equally as generous, letting Hunk partake in their buy, and eventually giving him full range to their mega-kitchen in the mansion once they found out he was an excellent chef and could satisfy their munchies when they did pot. The kitchen had a damn fireplace--once they even roasted s’mores in it. All around, it was an excellent arrangement.

But now Lance had finished the cocaine and Pidge was sleeping in Hunk’s lap, and Keith was playing with his knives, throwing them at random intervals where he thought Lance might go. Lance was uncatchable however, and managed to dodge every one. Not even on purpose.

When one did finally strike him, it was only the sleeve of his arm, and he didn’t even notice. He was too busy taking all the pots out of the kitchen cabinets and placing them by the doors and windows.

“We don’t need these, there’s not enough fucking room,” he said.

“Just throw yourself out,” Keith said helpfully, tossing a knife in the air, apparently bored of aiming at Lance, and catching it smoothly.

“Flesh weighs more than pans Keith!” Lance shouted, throwing a pan toward the window but hitting the wall instead. It bounced off and crashed to the floor, making a racket Shiro definitely would hear from the basement.

Keith gave Hunk an eye, to which Hunk responded with a shrug of his shoulders. Keith scoffed. 

Lance paused in his activity, hands wrapped around a colander as his face froze in fear.

“My sausages!’ he cried, and ran out of the room.

Thirty minutes later when he returned, Keith was beside Pidge, his head nestled in the juncture of where Hunk’s hip met his thigh, sleeping as peacefully as the youngest Galra.

“I found them,” Lance said, holding up his boots. Hunk watched as he placed them gently on the highest shelf of the freezer, and then Lance promptly puked his guts out on the floor.

Yeah, aside from the puke, it wasn’t too bad a deal.


	31. Five times denied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: character being anti-religion

She woke up at dawn.

She  _ hated _ waking up at dawn.

But every day the sun rose in the sky and with it her consciousness, her eyes fluttered open, caked in sticky sleep and a moan never far from her lips as she rolled onto her side and waited for another five minutes to pass, just another five. Her heart pounded and unconsciously her chest caved with guilt. She rode that high for five minutes. Every time she didn’t say her prayers was a step closer to staying alive.

She would fall back to sleep, oblivious to the peace that surrounded her, the morning chatter and wind whisping at her window meant nothing to her.

She would awake at her leisure and she would always, always shower at nine in the morning. She would spend far longer than five minutes in there, knowing exactly what she was doing. Shampooing her hair, she would stare at the stone wall facing north.

At one she would be at lunch, eating her lyodur tschaman and staring at the condensation off her glass. Usually she would indulge in a bland white wine, and relish every second it lasted on her tongue.

When early evening came around she would be busy doing something, anything, and it always took her mind off the things she had done once before, everyday at this time with her mother. But she would have no need for it now.

But when the day was at its end, she would fall to her knees. She would kneel beside her bed, her joints aching from her day, though she’d usually done nothing to earn her rest. She would fold her hands and a small malicious little grin would come to her lips. She would stare at the ceiling and face south.

Toward the cold, bitter and seeping through her veins and her heart. Toward the desolation, the loneliness the emptiness that held nothing but darkness. She would tilt her head back, and throw her arms wide.

She needed no god. No god had saved her. The Islamic God did not save her mother, the Hindu gods ignored her father, and any spirit that might’ve had power enough to conquer her she long outgrew.

She would be her own strength. She would wield her own power.

She licked her lips and grinned. Her eyes fell upon the ceiling, and she laughed.

Allura had no master.


	32. Welcome IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: um, language?

“You...are you sure about this?” 

Hunk didn’t drop his bag just yet. When something was too good to be true, it usually was.

Keith shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the door, and that was all Hunk was going to get from him. Lance ran around the room, grabbing things and cradling them in his arms, trying to make room for Hunk. His arms would shift and something would try and escape from his grasp, but Lance shifted enough that he would always catch it just before it fell from his arms.

“Of course buddy yeah,” he said. "We never use this room, it was mine before but now it’s like, an office. We’ll keep it that way so Papa Bear doesn’t find out, yeah? The couch pulls out into a bed, you can just use that and fold it up during the day. He’s never here man he has his own penthouse in the financial square. He’ll never fucking know.”

Lance grinned and Hunk turned around, raising an eyebrow at Keith. Keith scoffed, but didn’t look repulsed by anything that was going on.

“What about--”

“Shiro’s the one who  _ suggested _ it man. You can’t be staying with that guy. Craig.”

“Crank.”

“God your life is interesting.”

Hunk chuckled, finally coming closer and settling his things lightly on the small table beside the couch, now his bed. “Says the stepson of a mob boss who’s dating his brother.”

“Whoa,  _ whoa bruh _ , Keith and I aren’t dating, we’re  _ fucking _ . A brother has his needs.” Lance grinned wolfishly. “Pun intended.”

“Gross, dude.”

“Yeah whatever,” Lance now shrugged and opened the double doors leading to the upper level terrace. He threw all of the objects he’d been holding off the balcony and laughed when he saw Hunk’s face. “It’s cool the servants’ll get it.”

“Servants? And they won’t tell Zarkon?”

Lance rolled his eyes and shut the doors behind him before leaning against them. “They work for Shiro, not Zarkon.” Lance shrugged again. “You’ll learn.”

He walked past Hunk, slapping a hand on his shoulder amiably and standing next to Keith, who had yet to move anything other than his gaze, which wandered lazily across the room and stuck on Lance.

“We’re next door, Pidge is down the hall past the gallery, your bathroom is in the opposite direction. And Shiro technically has the master bedroom, but he never sleeps, so.” Lance made a dancing move backward, hands in his pockets and smile widening across his face. Keith followed him out of the room, albeit less enthusiastically.

Lance flew out a hand as they wandered away, “Welcome home!”

Hunk looked around the dark blue study, and sat on the couch. Welcome home.


	33. Wheels in jeopardy

Lance owned the fucking block.

He’d only been in this family for a month and they’d given him a _bicycle._ A goddamn _bicycle_. Lance preened as he rode down the cracked sidewalk. He’d stuck a card in the back wheel because it’s what he’d seen on TV, and you know, it sounded _nice_.

The fap-fap-fap of the card raced against the wheel as he flew what felt like a hundred miles an hour. No one could catch him at this speed, he thought as he pumped his legs harder, lifting his rear from the seat and leaning forward.

His heart pounded and the wind struck his face and he smiled. A bug flew into his nose and he coughed, sputtered, and kept flying.

Nothing could take the wind out from under his wings.

He turned the handles and swerved into the empty road, doing a couple donuts before he headed into his driveway. _His_ driveway. His family had a _driveway_ , because he was living in a _house_. And not one of those one-room homes he’d bad before, but one where he got his own bedroom.

He had to share the bathroom with Miranda, but he didn’t mind. She was nice, and she always smiled at him when she left the house. She was older, had a job working at a pizza place downtown. Twice already she’d brought back a pizza for them all to share, the grandparents, him and her, all settling in front of the TV to watch the game shows.

He liked Wheel of Fortune, since it helped practice his spelling in English. Jeopardy was too confusing though, and he didn’t understand the whole answering process. He knew people didn’t answer questions by asking another question, normally.

He jumped off his bike, fluidly touching his toes to the ground as the bike still ran beside him, contentedly spinning its wheels like a peppy dog coming back from a walk.

He leaned it against the kickstand, reverently bending it sideways until it rested comfortably on the pavement. He ran into the house, smiling as he turned through the entryway, to the hallway, to the door leading into the garage. It slammed heavily behind him and he opened the garage door.

He carefully tucked his bike into the corner, admiring it after shutting the garage door again. It even shined in the darkness. Lance felt his chest rise, and he didn’t think this high could ever be beat. He could never come down from this, the feeling of having something, all on his own. Something he could use when he saw fit, something that could _take him_ places.

“Lance!” Patricia called. Her voice strained due to her old age, and Lance gave his beautiful bike one last longing sigh before running back through the heavy door to his foster mother.

The door slammed on Lance’s exit and created a draft of wind that pummeled into the bike. The card from the back wheel fell to the cement floor, but Lance wasn’t there to see it fall.


	34. Amira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Nidhi? Refer to chapter 25.

Nidhi slapped Allura’s hand when she tried to grab a piece of khambir. Allura pouted, rubbing her hand while her cook tut-tutted.

“Selfish girl,” Nidhi said, waving her hand while she busied herself making the tea. Nidhi had a talent for doing ten things at once. It’s why her father had kept her around, though not why she’d been hired. She was Kashmiri, that was enough to allow her into their home.

“Nidhi I want to eat while it’s hot,” Allura said, yet not feeling brave enough to try and swipe one in another attempt.

“You can wait until I’m finished with the tea, Amira,” Nidhi said without an ounce of sympathy.

“Extra butter, please,” Allura said and Nidhi rolled her eyes but added another spoonful of butter to the tea. “And you know my name is Allura now. Stop calling me  _ that _ name.”

Allura did take a piece of bread then, and took a bite, nibbling on it while Nidhi looked her dead in the eye.

The old woman was in her fifties, half the weight of Allura and without an ounce of power. Wrinkles clung to her eyes and her hair was graying as quickly as the days passed. Her mouth puckered into a firm frown and Allura stared down at the table, shame swallowing her as she felt the dry piece of bread squeeze down her throat.

“I will come into your home at five in the morning,” Nidhi said, voice rumbling low like thunder. “I will make your bread and clean your little panties and speak this ugly language, I will do it all for you  _ mere jaan _ , but I will  _ not _ call you by anything other than the name your mother birthed you with, is that  _ quite _ clear?”

Nidhi was a cook and caretaker in the home of a mafia princess and she still commanded such authority, Allura could never imagine a time that would change.

“You cannot change who you are, Amira,” she said, and plopped the cup of tea before her. Allura took a small sip from the cup. The rich, salty flavor clamored over her tongue and she wished she could take it all back, every spoiled comment she’d made to Nidhi.

Nidhi watched Allura meekly drink her tea, and silently pushed forward the khambir for Allura to take. Allura blushed, tucking her chin to her chest, uncertain. Nidhi pushed it forward again, and again until it clinked against her teacup.

When Allura had the courage to look up again, Nidhi was smiling at her, and the warmth of it sank into her chest. Allura smiled back and plucked the warm bread from the plate. She stuffed it into her mouth and made a happy noise. 

Nidhi laughed.


	35. Welcome III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: hurt pidge :(

The child’s hand fell from its lap, dangling before it as its comatose body was taken upstairs. Its body was deposited into one of the rooms, and Lance peeked in curiously once all signs of the adults had gone.

He blinked rapidly, his eyes pained by the light streaming in through the windows.

The child’s breath was slight. Lance had moved closer, tip-toeing to the edge of the bed and gazing down at the newcomer. He wondered if he’d looked anything this peaceful when they gave him the drugs, but then chuckled when he realized he’d never been this peaceful in his life.

He slapped a palm over his mouth, quieting himself. He looked around, trying to see if anyone else had heard him, but nothing came out of the shadows, and the child slept on.

Lance moved another step closer and looked down at the little body below. Auburn hair fell into its eyes, and its cheeks were puffed out slightly from unconsciousness. Lance’s lips tugged into a smile. He remembered from his homes before, all the young ones he’d seen and cared for. His homes were always rampant with children, and one was always crying or screaming or making some kind of noise, but not this one.

Its fingers twitched and Lance traced his hand along the bedframe, getting closer but still avoiding contact.

It looked like an injured little bird amidst the bedsheets, and Lance wanted to run his fingers across its face, as though touching it would comfort it somehow, heal it.

Thick lashes fluttered in sleep and Lance watched as the child’s breath hitched and then became audible. A small aching moan left its lips and Lance felt his heart squeeze.

“Lance.” 

Lance spun around, turning to face Keith. Keith stood in the doorway, staring him down like he’d already done something wrong. Lance smiled wider, in nervousness, in spite, in happiness.

“Found a pigeon,” Lance said, and it came out a whisper.

Keith never took his eyes off him as he stepped forward, only turning his eyes at the last moment, beholding the child on the bed. Something crossed Keith’s face before his features straightened out, and the young boy scoffed.

“Broken,” Keith spat.

“Not like us,” Lance said, and Keith glared at him. Heat flooded Lance’s face, like it always did when Keith looked at him. Lance pushed Keith away from the child, smiling wide enough to challenge.

Lance pushed him out into the hall while Lance hovered at the doorway, a sentry guarding the gates.

Keith scoffed.

“No one’s like us,” Keith said, pocketing his hands and walking away from Lance.

Lance gave one last look into the room, and sighed. He left the door open and followed Keith.


	36. End I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence/blood

Lance smiled, wincing when it disturbed the cut on his cheek. Blood flowed down his temple and dripped down his chin. A bead fell onto Keith’s shirt.

Lance had him backed against the wall, shielding him from the heat. Another bomb went off--or a grenade maybe--and Lance shuddered so hard he nearly collapsed against Keith. Keith grabbed Lance’s arms, holding them down, never letting go.

“You--” Lance grit out, spitting blood on the ground before continuing. “You once said that no--no one’s like us.”

Lance was so close Keith was breathing in his air. Every part of him was fading except his eyes and the small furrow between them.

“You said us. You meant--me,” Lance said, his voice strained. He paused, almost heaving before he leaned his head to the side of Keith. His hair brushed the side of Keith’s cheek and all Keith could smell was ash.

Lance’s head drooped and Keith grabbed his face in his hands, bringing him up back to stare at him.

“I meant you and me,” Keith said and Lance let out a broken noise. Keith wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or something else. But he could smell Lance now, above the ash and he could taste him. He licked into his mouth, drinking in the copper from his blood, and salt from his sweat.

“You and me,” Lance said, just above a whisper. Keith pressed his lips to Lance’s, gently. “You and me?”

Keith nodded, nose pressing into Lance’s temple as he kissed his cheek.

Lance pushed against him, crashing into his body and curling around Keith while several gunshots rang out around them. They were closing in, Keith heard them, their voices an echoing jumble that made no sense but only said one thing--threat.

“It’s always been you and me,” Keith said and Lance kissed him, repeatedly.

“Pot and kettle,” Lance said. His voice sounded strangely faded.

“Pilot and driver,” Keith said.

“You and me.”


	37. His

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: posessiveness, sociopathy

Lance was in love with Keith. Everyone knew it, it was so obvious. The way he trailed after him the way he did, all that time he dedicated, the attention he devoted, Lance  _ loved _ Keith.

But Keith wasn’t in love with Lance. He could never  _ really _ be  _ in love _ with Lance. He just wasn’t built that way.

Lance, to Keith, was the scar he got in his knee the day a seagull had sliced him with his beak trying to get his gimbap. It pissed him off at first, annoyed the shit out of him to have such an annoying and stupidly-wrought scar. From a fucking bird no less, it was embarrassing.

But then it healed and scabbed and it became a bump of raised flesh, creating a striking arch along his upper leg. People pointed it out, asking how he’d gotten it, and to shut them up he’d make up a new story every time, relishing in the awe they had that  _ he _ had such an awesome scar, a testament to his strength--however false it was.

Eventually, time went on, and he found himself tracing the scar, running his fingers across the edge over and over again. He would stare at it in the sunlight, admiring the way it looked almost silver against his skin, and it became valuable to him.

It was a fucking scar, but it was  _ part _ of him. He could never remove it, could never erase the history shared from it. It was his, it was  _ him _ , and he could sooner lose his arm and forget he’d had one than he could be rid of that scar.

Lance was talking, babbling with his mouth open while eating and Keith had been ignoring the words and content to just listen and roll his eyes every time Lance ended up spitting out a piece of chewed food onto the floor.

Lance reached out and grabbed Keith’s knee, not doing anything with it, but just touching him, because that’s what Lance needed from him. Keith let him dig his nails against the jeans as Lance scratched and rubbed as mindlessly as he chewed.

His step-brother scooted closer to Keith, and now Keith could hear he was talking to Hunk about Star Trek again, or Star Wars, like he could ever keep up. 

Keith weaved his own hand possessively to the inside of Lance’s thigh, curling it around the back and squeezing a bit. He felt content when Lance relaxed in his hold, leaning against him like a soft wave, his breath heavy against Keith’s side.

Keith wasn’t in love with Lance. But Lance was his scar. His one and only. He held... _ affection _ , for him, and Keith didn’t feel affection for much.

Keith pressed his lips to Lance’s hair, and slid his hand up Lance’s thigh, relishing in his brother’s shudder.

Lance was his. 


	38. Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: forced drug usage, violence

Shiro knew he was in trouble when Lance threw Keith clear across the room, his skinny arms wiry with uncanny strength, no doubt harnessing the crack he’d been forced to smoke again.

He was getting better at it, less messy and more coherent during his trips. Sendak was pleased, even if Shiro knew better. The crack turned his new brother--he was still shocked Zarkon had actually signed papers making it legal--violent.

Lance was already a physical kid, Shiro could tell. The way he threw his arms around when he spoke at the breakfast table even when he was sober, the way he sang in the shower and laughed so loudly it could be heard down the hall--Lance was a rambunctious little guy.

But now he had a thing for Keith, and the “thing” he had for him translated into a boyish-inspired need to tease and toy with his object of interest. All of it made so much worse when Lance became utterly obnoxious when Sendak and cronies forced him into another high, trying to get the 13-year-old addicted to the crack to get him where they needed him, peddling in the streets. 

He pushed at Keith’s buttons, yelled and goaded him on, and Keith being Keith…

Shiro knew he was in trouble.

Keith punched Lance straight in the throat and Shiro could hear the second Lance lost his breath. His long fingers clutched at his throat and Keith took the opportunity to punch him across the face and then in the gut. Lance folded like a house of cards, dropping to the floor.

Keith would’ve kicked him if Shiro hadn’t run up and grabbed his half-brother by the arm and pulled him backward. Keith didn’t strike out at him, he never raised a hand against Shiro, but he stared down at Lance threateningly.

“What? We’re  _ bonding _ ,” Keith scoffed, wrenching his hand away from Shiro’s grasp and walking away. Shiro let him go and leaned over Lance, pulling him out of his fetal position and straightening his body, allowing his lungs room to inflate.

Lance heaved in a shaky breath. His eyes were wet from the stress, but he wasn’t crying. He was giggling, rasping out small breaths and Shiro shushed him, patting his hand on his shoulder, and rubbing one arm down his ribs, encouraging him to breathe normally.

When Lance finally caught his breath, the room felt unbearably quiet. Lance turned his head to gaze up at Shiro. Shiro couldn’t smile. He was still inwardly groaning at his luck. How had the Galra picked the one kid that would tear their world to pieces?

Lance’s eyes were huge, and Shiro had to admit he was giving him a look that was hard to ignore. Lance tried so hard to be noticed, to get attention of any kind, but it was like this, quiet and simply watching with wide-eyed curiosity, that made him the most endearing.

Shiro was in trouble all right, and things were only going to get worse. 


	39. Panacea

Every time Pidge played chess, he forgot how to play it. So he grabbed Hunk by the hand to lead his friend from his room and brought him into Pidge’s.

They sat Hunk on the bed and brought out other games. Scrabble, Sorry, Monopoly, Backgammon, Go, Twister, and had Hunk pick one out. Hunk picked checkers.

The pieces kept sliding around because of their bodies’ weight dipping into the bed. Pidge would move them back and look up at Hunk, making sure they had moved the pieces in the right spot. He would always just smile and nod at Pidge, assuring them they’d made the correct assumption.

Pidge turned one of her pawns into a King and rubbed her forehead. His nose was aching and it felt like an itch he wanted to scratch. But the game was the kitchen mitts he’d duct taped to his hands, and he wouldn’t budge, not yet. The game would distract her from her craving and she could do it, she knew she could.

Hunk made a move and Pidge responded, taking his pawn. Hunk smiled and sighed, and Pidge smiled in return, wiping their nose with the back of their hand. Hunk reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag.

Pidge shook his head and waved his hands back and forth. He wanted to go the whole day. It was already 8 at night, only four more hours and it would be a full day.

But Hunk shook his head and opened the bag, showing Pidge the contents. Pidge leaned forward and blinked her eyes a few times, finally smiling impishly and reaching her hand into the bag. She lifted it, fingers delicately holding a few gummy worms. She placed them in her left palm and picked one and bit halfway into it.

Hunk took one out and chewed on one end, letting the rest of his hang out his mouth while he made his next move. The pieces shifted again and Pidge left them where they were. They chewed on the gummy worm, and their cheeks felt the bite that came with the taste of sour candy.

She rolled her tongue over the gummy worm, sucking on it until i was clean of the salty sweet sugar. She chewed and chewed until it was slime in her mouth and swallowed, and repeated the action again with the other half of the worm.

He watched Hunk’s gummy worm slide ever closer into his mouth, finally disappearing behind pursed lips. Pidge laughed and Hunk smiled and looked at him, wanting to be in on the joke.

Pidge just shook her head and made her move. Now she was losing, but she wouldn’t be for much long. She always beat Hunk at checkers. They finished the bag and together and played another few rounds of checkers before moving onto Yatzee.

The game lasted the night, and the gloves stayed on.


	40. Monopoly

“I call top hat!”

“No. You’re the dog, clearly.”

“What?! Rude.”

“Pidge’s right, bro, you’re always the dog and Shiro’s the top hat.”

“Well fine then Keith’s the shoe this time.”

“Where’s the battleship?”

“Lance ate it.”

“It was small, I thought it was a peanut.”

“How do you mix up a small metal battleship with a peanut?”

“Hunger and cocaine are a rough mix.”

“Keith can be the racecar then, I’ll be the shoe?”

“Hunk, why would you  _ want _ to be the shoe?”

“Who doesn’t want to be the shoe? It gets you places just as much as the racecar does.”

“Yeah but slower.”

“Yeah but you can’t drive a racecar without shoes.”

“Guys, whatever. I’ll be the iron.”

“I’d argue with you but it’s that or the thimble and literally the thimble is the worst.”

“I know, at least the iron I can use as a weapon.”

“ _ Harsh, _ Pidge.”

“Like you don’t deserve it at least once a day,  _ Lance. _ ”

“Are we ready? How do we start again?”

“Shiro how do you forget this every time?”

“At least I remembered how much money to deal. Also Lance, no punching Keith when you lose this time okay? Or else you’re cleaning the blood off Pidge’s carpet.”

“Well that’s not going to be a problem because I’m  _ not _ losing this time.”

“Lance you lose every time, buddy. It’s one of nature’s laws.”

“Well nature can  _ suck it _ because I am winning this time. I’m winning this time and Pidge can eat a sock and Keith can eat  _ me _ , okay?”

“You’re on.”

“Keith don’t encourage him.”

“That’s their relationship, Shiro. It’s time you accepted it. I have, and my life is a lot easier for it.”

“Whatever, can we roll please? Daddy wants to relish every second he can get of seeing Keith realize his demise as it happens in real time, let’s go let’s go let’s  _ go. _ ”

“Welcome to game night,” Shiro said solemnly, and handed the dice to Hunk. Hunk cupped it in his hands and tossed it onto the board.

5.


	41. Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: boys, underage drinking...kinda? and more condoms. gawd lance you just keep them on you??

Hunk wasn’t sure when Lance became his best friend, but it was confirmed when they dropped the condom filled with martinis on the diplomat from Italy.

Lance and he had snuck onto the roof of the embassy. He wasn’t sure how Lance had been able to make it past security, but Lance had a bit of magic in his bones, and he seemed to be able to disappear easily. Hunk could never disappear, he always felt like the focus of the room, but with Lance, somehow he became invisible too.

They’d only wanted to get in to look around, but before he knew it Lance had snagged a couple drinks, shoved several hors d'oeuvres into his pockets and waggled his eyebrows at Hunk, signaling they needed to bounce. They ran up several flights of stairs and Hunk lead the trail, certain someone was following them and would kick them out, call the cops, or worse, Lance’s brother Keith.

That guy kind of gave Hunk the heebie-jeebies.

Lance bounded behind him and Hunk peeked out the door to make sure no one was following them down the hall before gently shutting it. He leaned against it and watched Lance empty his pockets, throwing Hunk a small piece of biscotti that now had fish eggs smeared on it. Hunk took a small bite and hummed. Really, it was actually very good.

Lance walked to the edge of the roof and flung his legs over the ledge. Hunk cringed and his own stomach dropped in sympathy. Lance was insane, but the guy couldn’t be called a coward.

Hunk joined him but remained standing firmly on the ground beside Lance, finishing the biscotti and reaching into Lance’s pockets himself to fish out another one. Lance chatted congenially the whole time, mouth running as fast as his fingers had been grabbing the food.

He talked about these events like he went to them all the time. Hunk nodded along and took out the weed, wondering exactly who this guy was. The Galra kids were infamous, but no one actually knew anything about them. Just that they were all crazy in different ways, and violent as hell.

Shiro, the Zeus of the pack. Righteous but furious. No one knew about that guy. Hunk had met him a few times when he made his way by the house, and he seemed like a chill guy, but he’d heard the stories, and honestly, he believed them.

Keith, the Machiavellian Prince. ‘Nough said. The guy was a sociopath, no doubt about it. Once he’d dropped off an eightball of coke and watched while Keith, for no reason provoked, grabbed Lance, slammed him against the wall and bit his shoulder tendon.

Lance, the Joker. Even when Keith had bit him so hard blood flowed down into his shirt, he’d laughed like it was the greatest joke. Then he’d punched him in the face and shrugged at Hunk.

There was another, but Hunk hadn’t met them yet. They were quiet, but “useful.” Hunk didn’t know much else.

Now they were on the roof when Lance paused in his speech and pointed at the ground. “That guy Hunk! That guy called me a ‘little shit!’ Well fuck I’ll show him ‘little shit.’” Lance reached back into his Mary Poppins pockets and pulled out a condom. Hunk wasn’t exactly surprised, but he hadn’t been expecting that either. 

He begged Hunk’s participation, who felt like ants were crawling up his spine he was so nervous. He helped Lance fill up the condom with the stolen drinks, tying it off and sliding it in his hands, assessing its weight. 

He held it over the edge, grinning from ear to ear. “You ready for this?” he asked, and before Hunk could blink, dropped it from the roof, where it fell and landed  _ smack _ on the guy’s arm, bouncing off it and landing on the ground, where alcohol flew from the condom and splashed all over his pants and chest.

His squawking could be heard from several stories below and Lance and Hunk laughed, doubling over and crouching, trying to catch their breath.

Lance was crazy, but damn if he didn’t have a sense of humor.   
  



	42. Impressions

They called this city fine. They said it was cultured, a gem, rare considering all of the other cities in America. Other cities were lesser, they said, with many ugly, rude people. But this city was different, she was told, much better for foreigners to go.

But all Allura saw was gray. Gray skies, gray streets, even the people had gray skin from never seeing the sun. They looked miserable, living in a city with such winds and no green. Where was all the green?

Allura missed the trees, the rivers, the red dirt roads she used to travel on. She missed the colorful boats that floated along Dal lake, and the vegetable gardens dipping up and down from the currents in the water.

Here there were ugly gray seals that made loud noises and smelled terrible. The other children laughed but Allura hated them, she wanted them dead.

Allura looked out into the water here and didn’t see life. There were no shops across the way, only endless, vast ocean spread out, mocking her, as though her home had never existed.

Her father brought home sugary cereals Allura wouldn’t touch. They were so sweet they made her teeth ache.

“Please  _ mere lal _ ,” he would say, “try to like it here.”

Allura glared at him over her spoon. She tipped it, letting the soggy cereal fall back into the bowl.

“Things are going so well here,” he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. She was feeling impetuous, so she moved away, not allowing him to touch her. He sighed. “Life is much better here, I know you see it.”

Allura didn’t bother yelling at him. She did that yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and it made no difference then, so why would it now. If only he would learn the same lesson.

“It’s much easier to sell weapons from here,” he said. “There is no haggling, just a set price, and because we are in America, no one cares where I sell them to. They don’t even know of Kashmir, they don’t even know where Pakistan is!”

He laughed and Allura let her chin fall to the table, resting it on the cold granite.

“I’m meeting with a great leader tomorrow,” he told her, finally able to tuck the errant hair behind her ear. She looked up at him, and he smiled down at her tenderly. “I think he will be good to our cause. Our people will get what they need. With his connections, maybe we can see some real progress.”

Allura sighed, grabbing her father’s hand to press to her cheek. It felt so warm there, and he brushed his thumb across her eye, letting her lashes flutter against his fingertip.

“ _ Mere chand _ ,” he whispered softly, “life will be good again. I promise.”

Allura nodded, but she furrowed her eyebrows and knit her brow. His words were a comfort, but they also rubbed against her like nails on a chalkboard. Promises, she knew, were like prayers. 

They often went unanswered.


	43. Date night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: drugs, explicit violence

“Isn’t this great?” shouted Lance from over the dumpster. “I thought we could do something a little fun tonight.”

He spun around and shot the trigger three times toward the right of the alley, careful not to have the bullets ricochet and bite him in the ass. Which had happened before, no lie.

“Thoughtful of you,” Keith returned and Lance grinned before firing off another two shots. Keith was on the other side of him, waiting for a chance to use his knives, but right now all the good times were for Lance.

The Balmera gang had come out to play and when Lance had caught wind of it, he’d dragged Keith out into the streets and into the fray. Not that Keith had complained any, he was aching for a fight as much as Lance ever was.

And  _ now _ , Lance thought, chuckling to himself, the Balmerans were out of bullets.

_ Oh _ were they fucked.

Keith flew out from his position and charged the group at the end of the alley. Lance ran after him, jumping from his crouched position and firing over Keith’s shoulder as he plunged straight into their front lines.

He reached out with his leg, cutting the throat of the first Balmera thug with the blade in his boot. Lance hollered a wordless cry and shot another in the face before ducking behind a trash can when one guy got his gun reloaded.

Out of the corner of his eye Lance could see Keith, and it took his breath away.

Keith stabbed one guy in the side of the head before pulling back and nailing another guy with the tips of his fingers into the hollow of his throat, blocking the kid’s airways and leaving him breathless and powerless in one simple move. Keith dropped to the ground when he saw a gun coming his way and the Balmeran ended up shooting one of his own guys in the chest, right through the right side, leaving a cave opened in his back. Keith surged and tackled the man, stabbing him in the chest several times before leaping up again and kicking the gun out of his hands with his bootblade, slicing his hand in the process.

Lance’s smile grew wider as he watched Keith, every powerful movement calculated and fearless, like the mind driving the body.

When all the bodies were on the floor it was Lance’s turn to tackle Keith, backing him up against the wall and laughing into his mouth, panting and feeling his dick growing hard at the image now plastered to his brain, of Keith taking out an entire gang while Lance just watched him do it.

They drove back to the mansion at a furious speed, and Lance couldn’t even wait until they got to their room to finish the night. They got high on the cold cement floor, drenched in blood.   
  



	44. Fourth dimension

“What the hell are you doing?”

There’s a small person standing in the doorway. Hunk lifts his arms in surrender, granola bar half hanging out of his mouth. He talks around the granola bar, trying not to let it fall out of his mouth, but still not ready to lower his hands, you know, in case.

“I can’t hear what you’re saying,” the person rolls their light brown eyes and Hunk raises his eyebrows, slowly lowering his hands and grabbing the granola bar out of his mouth. He clears his throat and explains himself.

“Well I came in here looking for a snack, which I found, and then I found what I’m assuming is your diary, and I started reading it, and then I started getting really into the colors but I had to wonder like, ‘what? Is this person 12?’ And I guess you kind of are in which case, kudos, cause like, those are some pretty rad drawings and thoughts for a 12 year old--”

“--You read my diary?!--” they scream but Hunk just takes another bite of the granola bar and continues to explain himself.

“But I also wanted to correct your math on the fourth dimensional drawings and imaginary numbers like you can’t forget--oh and speaking of kudos these are the best granola bars, you want one too?” he throws one to the small person, who went from looking like they were about to combust to slightly put off and mostly curious.

“What about the fourth dimensional drawings? They’re accurate,” they say defensively.

“Well I mean mostly, but I think you’re mostly working from your imagination rather than the technical side of the concepts. Let me show you.” Hunk shoved the rest of the candy bar acting as a granola bar into his mouth and grabs a pen from the nightstand by the bed. He started writing in the diary, drawing upon the kid’s drawings with an edge that clearly shows he’s had more experience.

“You...like math,” they said. “You get math.” The kid sat on the bed and tucked their feet under themselves. They folded their arms across their chest, frowning into the floor. “No one else gets math here. They don’t...they don’t care about learning. It’s like they just. Gave up.” The bright eyes looked back at Hunk, brimming with something like hope. “But you haven’t. You understand that just because you can’t see it, it doesn’t mean it’s not there. Just because it hasn’t been proven doesn’t mean it won’t be. Someday.”

Hunk shrugged, large shoulder dropping down while the kid looked past him out the window. Hunk wanted to say something profound, but he was left still trying to understand exactly what it is this kid was searching for.

“Math is logical,” Hunk said, sliding his tongue around his teeth, grabbing the last morsels of sugar inside his mouth. “It’s an accumulation of knowledge that better aids my understanding of the world. I mean, I can have a conversation with a thousand people but it still wouldn’t necessarily give me all the answers to befriending the thousandth and first.” Hunk scratched his cheek and tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know about proving anything. But I think...I think it’s nice. Knowing something, without doubt.”

Hunk smiled at the kid. “I’m Hunk by the way. Who’re you?”

The kid almost smiled back. “Call me 'Pidge.'”

“Cool,” Hunk said and stood. He pat Pidge on the head and walked out of the room, pausing in the doorway. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Pidge nodded, and Hunk walked down the stairs. He left the house and stared up at the sky, pleased that the clouds were finally gone, and he could see the unfiltered night sky. If he squinted and looked closely enough, he could make out the big dipper amidst all the city lights blasting the sky.

How about that.


	45. A rolling stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: weed

They were about 80 miles north of the city. Keith drove this time and stopped abruptly, gravel flying and pelting the underbelly of the red Jaguar, when Lance grabbed his arm and told him to stop. He’d seen something out of the corner of his eye, and now was as good a time as any to go along with Lance’s whims.

Keith flew passed the fence, neither of them caring he’d ruined the front fender as he ripped through the old wood like wrapping paper. He parked the car in the sinking sediment. Lance wordlessly took his hand and led him into the dilapidated building.

It looked like an old schoolhouse, something Anne of Green Gables could comfortably exist in. A tree had fallen onto the roof, crushing about a third of the structure and giving the insides access to the outside world. Everything was covered in a soft green moss and the floor was moist with the recent rains.   


Lance sat on the floor, long legs spread out before him as he took out a blunt and lit it. He passed it to Keith.

Keith inhaled, long and sweet. He always hated the smell of weed, but his hands were twitching and he needed a release. They passed it over to each other, neither a word spoken between them. The stars were so visible through the ceiling Keith could almost hear them twinkling. Maybe that’s why Lance was so quiet, maybe he was listening to the stars.

As if on cue, Lance spoke while Keith puffed on the last few dregs of the blunt. “I like it here,” he said. 

Keith scoffed. “You’d hate it after a day. You’d hate the silence.”

“I don’t mind quiet,” he shoved Keith’s boot with his own. “I hang out with you, don’t I?”

“You saying you enjoy my company?” Keith asked, skepticism obvious in his tone.

Lance grinned and tilted his head to the side. “Lookit you, finally joining in on the fun that is degrading you. Should I have a jacket made up for you? We also have pins.”

Keith frowned and leaned forward, hanging his elbows on the insides of his knees. His and Lance’s legs had intertwined somehow. They made a mess of the floor, tangled like vines. It fit somehow, given the atmosphere.

Keith never knew how to reply to Lance’s quips. They came so easily to Lance, but Keith never felt like he had the time to catch up. Maybe it was the language. Lance always spoke so quickly, sometimes Keith felt like while he knew the words coming out of Lance’s mouth, he could never understand them,  _ comprehend _ them. It was like he was learning English all over again when Lance teased him.

Keith allowed the silence to linger for a moment before he got bored. He closed the gap between them, grabbing Lance’s hair in his fingers and pressed their lips together.

It was sloppy, wet, but nearly chaste from their usual ones. Keith and Lance didn’t actually kiss all that often, but when they did, Keith was reminded of how Lance tasted. Some elements changed, like now the sweetness of the hash replaced the usual tang of cocaine, but one thing never did. Lance always tasted like cinnamon.

Keith deepened the kiss and Lance fell into his arms. They wrapped themselves around the other, and when their kiss became something more than it should, something meaningful, Keith turned him over and fucked him into the moss.


	46. Chains that bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge rested their chin on Shiro’s head.

“Whatcha doin’?” they asked. Shiro hummed, deciding not to move so as to let Pidge hang on to him.

“More paperwork,” he said. Pidge made a disapproving noise.

“You know for a mob you guys have a pretty boring gig. Don’t you ever go out, have shoot outs, kidnap some rich kids and give them Stockholm syndrome, snort cocaine?”

Pidge removed her head and Shiro stared at her glumly. “Oh wait,” Pidge drawled sarcastically. “That was yesterday.”

“Speaking of,” Shiro said. “Have you seen the twins?”

“You mean Tweedle-Keith and Tweedle-Dum-Dum? Yeah, I just left them.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Left them doing what?” Pidge had that edge to his shoulders that gave Shiro an idea that whatever he’d left them doing, it wasn’t anything good. Or rather, it was definitely worse than what they were normally up to.

Pidge groaned and leaned her full weight on Shiro. Shiro wrapped his arm around Pidge, patting their back softly.

She mumbled and Shiro nudged her, asking for clarification.

“They’re watching gay porn and taking notes,” he said, and Shiro laughed out loud, a full belly laugh that shook Pidge right off him. “It’s not funny, they’re watching the really gross stuff. My eyes are burning and I’m pretty sure my ears have already fallen off.”

“Yeah well, I can’t blame you,” Shiro said, laughter tapering down to a few short chuckles.

Pidge sat on the floor and leaned his head against Shiro’s knee. Shiro went back to his books, but only half paid attention. The warmth from Pidge distracted him, in the softest way.

“Hey,” Pidge said quietly, “Shiro?”

“Hmm?”

“You...do  _ you _ ever want to leave?”

Shiro removed his eyes from the pages and beheld the sight of Pidge below him. The top of his head, to be precise. Pidge’s hair fanned out around the crown of her head, looking like a soft brown, fluffy halo.

Shiro dropped his hand down, and Pidge jumped slightly at the feeling of the hand on their head. Shiro rubbed at the hair, messing it thoroughly, and Pidge tensed his shoulders, but otherwise allowed Shiro the gesture.

“Leave you?” Shiro said. His voice sounded terribly loud in the silence of the room, though he barely spoke above a whisper. “Never.”

Pidge relaxed under Shiro’s hand, settling down and eventually nodding off to sleep on Shiro’s knee.

Shiro stared down at the books again. More than anything, at that moment, he felt chained to the floor.


	47. Virginal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: hetero sex (whaaaaaaaaaat?)

Allura laughed when Shiro’s fingers shoved into her with as much tact as police barging guns blazing into a bank heist. She flew her hand to her mouth and stretched her hips up. It felt like she was getting a hip examination, and laughter bubbled inside her when the image of her gynecologist asking her questions while intimately invading her came to mind.

“Shiro,” she said, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. “Slowly, then fast, right now slow, go slow, my love…”

His forehead clenched in concentration as he tried to do her bidding. Allura laughed again and dropped her upper body to the bed, opening herself up to him.

It was almost  _ too _ easy.

She’d worried he might not be interested in her. In fact they’d met before she’d planned, and there was a moment when they met eyes she cursed herself for not having done enough to prepare, to entice him and grab his attention appropriately.

But all she’d done was walk by him and his mouth became a gaping slack-jawed hole and his mind a heaping pile of mush for her to mold like clay. She’d thought he’d be like red pete on a wheel but he was like porcelain, like melted butter between her wet palms she could push and squeeze into whatever she wanted.

Revenge against Zarkon Galra would be so simple from here on out.

Allura shushed Shiro when he tried to speed up again too soon, plunging his fingers between her legs like an animal. She pulled his hair and his head fell back to gaze on her. Lust gave him a sweaty glow and a sheen over his eyes.

He was handsome, Allura admired in a detached way, but his virginity wasn’t as big a shock as it might’ve been had she been more naive to the trade. Mob work was long, vigorous, taxing. It required a kind of diligence that took time and humanity from people and without those two things, fucking became remarkably difficult. Unless, of course, you went to any strip club or prostitution ring.

But Shiro, apparently and very much  _ unlike _ his father, was not that type.

He suckled at her breasts and she cradled his head between her palms, caressing his face with light stroke of her thumb.

“Like that you see,” she explained, smiling at him condescendingly. “Earn your way in.”

Allura felt Shiro’s heart beat faster and he let out a gasp of breath, which she felt all the way to her neck. Shiro tried again, but Allura was already on to her next plan.


	48. the plan, part I

Allura’s plan was, as far as plans go, quite simple.

She felt, from a professional standpoint, plans too convoluted tended to spiral. One small detail changed and the whole tower tore down. Build all over again, and then another detail would go off--it was a sad cycle she’d seen among the ambitious middle rank trying to scramble their way to the top, only to be swatted down again and again because of their lack of farsightedness.

By contrast planning  _ nothing _ lent itself to, well, just that. Imagine “planning” to see Paris, but never buying the ticket, or the hotel room, or even making a schedule.

No. There was a happy medium, and Allura’s sense of revenge had picked just the right temperature.

The trick was to think of it like one might a crime. Most crimes happened through moments of passion and impulse. These were easily caught. To really go through with a crime, one needed a level head, and solid organizational skills.

Crimes of passion had no level heads, and were thus messy and usually caught out by smarter people. But no organization left one fumbling with, usually, a half-alive man getting away and ratting out the whole conspiracy to the upper echelon and allied mobs, and you ended up caught out there, too.

So Allura’s plan was solid, organized and flexible. It required work and dedication, but it was fathomable and quite easy to understand.

It was this: infiltrate the Galra without being noticed. Then, infect it like a cancer.

Simple, yes. Difficult, yes. Impossible? No.

Step one: Infiltrate. She needed to find a higher-up with access to the Galra books and dealings. Someone trusted, but someone malleable. Simply put, it was a seduction case. And old trick to be sure, but it worked. 

She could’ve gone the older route and act as a golddigger. No one would question Sendak fucking a young girl, he did it all the time, a girl from a disgraced and dead mob boss would only cause a few shrugs.

But he was also close to the Witch, to that Haggar, and one woman could always see up the other’s sleeve.

It left Shiro and Keith, the sons of Zarkon. It was risky, she knew, but perfect.  _ Perfect _ . It would make more sense for a young man to be taken in by a hot piece of ass without caring who she was, if he even cared to ask in the first place. Plus it meant she could stay longer. A grown man would surely tire of a young golddigger, but a young man who fell into the throes of passion would find himself wrangled back in again. She could stretch her timeline therefore, if need be.

But now it was a question of whom. Keith or Shiro? 

Well she found out pretty quick that Keith was fucking the wild one. He was also as sociopathic as she was heartless, and would never fall for her ruse. He wasn’t cunning, but someone as stone-cold as Keith Galra could see right through anyone. Being a sociopath was like being a polygraph test personified at times. Everyone laid their emotions on their sleeve, and to one who had to study hard to blend in, these emotions were child’s play.

So Shiro would be her in. He would show her the books, the Family, the network. Everything.

And Allura would take it all apart, strand by strand.


	49. At last

“Oh my god,  _ Katie _ , oh shit,” Hunk grasped the arm rests like his life depended on it. Honestly, it probably did, from a certain statistical standpoint. “Katie this is it we’re gonna die oh my god,  _ Katie we’re gonna die _ .”

“We’re not gonna die,” Katie said flatly. They weren’t. After everything that had happened, they weren’t going to die in a plane crash of all things.

“But like what if the plane goes into turbulence and a bird flies into the engine and the engine goes out and we’re still only halfway to Australia and then we go plummeting into the Indian Ocean oh Katie you’ve been a good friend dude, a good buddy have I ever mentioned the time I stole your jacket and me and Lance used it to carry out the severed arms Shiro started collecting--”

“Hunk.” Hunk opened one eye.

Katie stared at him, taking one hand and reaching over to clutch Hunk’s forearm and squeeze, hard. 

“We’re not going to die.” Hunk didn’t move and his chest looked comically like an air balloon ready to pop. “We’re not going to die, and I don’t care about what’s happened in the past. It’s over. We’re moving on.”

They let go of Hunk, and  _ finally _ Hunk let out his breath, slowly.

“It’s...really over isn’t it?” Hunk asked quietly, staring down into his lap while his fingers still had the armrests in a death grip.

Katie nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“Hello you two~!” said their red-haired companion excitedly, and about two levels too loudly. “Are you ready to enjoy 22 hours of confined bliss?!”

Katie frowned and shook his head while Hunk began to turn green. Really, where had the Marshals Service even come up with this guy.

The man, "Coran" if Katie remembered correctly, preened his moustache before buckling himself into the aisle seat, next to Hunk. “Fun fact, this plane is now hurtling through the air at about 900 kilometers an hour! Imagine if we ran out of fuel? Ever wondered if that’s ever happened before? It has!” he smiled so cheerfully Katie felt he  _ knew _ what he was doing to Hunk, who looked like he was ready to go into a fear coma at any moment.

“And did you know these oxygen masks only give you enough oxygen to ask about 14 to 20 minutes? And that if someone dies in flight they often just have to cover up their body and strap them in since most don’t have designated corpse cupboards?” He laughed raucously, slapping his knee while Hunk succumbed to his terror and vomited into a paper bag.

Katie scrunched her nose and glared at the man, who winked at her kindly.

“And now that he’s got  _ that _ out of the way,” Coran gestured to Hunk, who slumped into his seat and immediately nodded off. “I think we can finally get some peace, don’t you?”

Katie eyed him with suspicion, but couldn’t help the small smile that made its way to their face. They leaned their head against the window and shortly fell into a light doze.

For the first time in years, she dreamed.


	50. Taken III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: kidnapping, nonconsensual drug use

Katie adjusted her camera to her eye, lining up the shot. She was so focused, and she’d never thought for a moment being focused could be a bad thing.

Clarity took focus, it took purpose. When you had that kind of attention, other things drifted away. It was like looking at your hand and in the background, everything grew fuzzy except for the details of your fingers, the ridges in your thumbpad, the lifelines stroking down your palm. Nothing else could be clear.

The small prick in the back of her shoulder went unnoticed.

Her vision blurred, and she dropped the camera a bit, blinked a few times. The sun was brighter than it was before, and she wondered if she was having a fainting spell. She’d never had one before, but they weren’t uncommon as a general health issue.

She rubbed her face and she felt hands pulling her suddenly, and she opened her mouth, but her voice was stuck in her throat. A rasp came out, followed by the urge to vomit, but something was over her head. The sun was no longer bright, because she couldn’t see it, she couldn’t see anything.

Darkness pervaded her vision.

She panicked, she kicked and thrashed her arms, but they defied her and only hung limply, getting weaker with every passing second.

_ Dad, Matt, Dad _ \--she called in her mind. She begged to words to come to her lips but she only rasped again, and this time when she breathed in, cloth folded into her mouth and she coughed.

Sounds rang in her ears, and she could hear it getting louder the more she focused on it. Her thoughts drifted, as though she were starting to dream, but instead of images and memories, of stories waiting to be told by her recuperating brain, her brain--

\--moved.

It moved, it swayed, it looped and twisted, deviated. Nothing was clear to her now. It was like she was drowning, she couldn’t breathe, and it was that moment before she came up for air, she was suspended in it, always reaching toward the surface, almost there, about to break the water’s edge, but she was held back again and again and again--

It felt like days, months, years even, before she felt the fog on her mind lift. A gentle wave pulled her up and she looked around her, feeling dry sand beneath her, hard yet yielding. Her eyelids cracked open, sticking from sleep. Her mouth was dry and her head ached worse than her body.

She clenched her hands in bed sheets that felt like sandpaper and looked up.

She looked into the eyes of a man she’d never seen before. He pinned her there, and she couldn’t help but focus her attention on him. Everything else felt pale and limp around the hard stare he channeled her way, and it felt like it was crushing her into the mattress.

Her shoulder felt a prick again, and her head fell back beneath the water, struggling to breathe, pushing and fighting--

But never breaching the surface.


	51. Taken I

“Take these, and defend them with your life.”

Amira watched as her father accepted the two passports and put them into his inner coat pocket within a moment. Her mind was sluggish from being woken so early, much earlier than their normal morning prayer.

“Take the bus to New Dehli.  _ Never get off the bus _ . Not even to pee. Hold it, or piss in a can if you have to,” the man said. He was speaking English, which bothered Amira. He wasn’t local then, he must work for the government. It made her step back away from him and closer to her father. As a Kashmiri she had an inner mistrust of the police or other government officials, almost as though it were written in her blood. 

Her father grasped the man’s right hand and shook it firmly. Amira saw his mouth creased in a grim line, his lips were so thin they disappeared. She wanted to know where her mother was, and why they were running away in the dead of the night before their prayers.

“ ہےکہاںامی؟" 

Amira asked, looking up at her father and demanding his attention. They would have to wait before mother came back to do anything.

From below, Amira watched her father’s face turn toward her, and then look down in the slowest of motions. He reached down, and his hand felt like stone between her fingers, his eyes were wider than the moon at its brightest. Amira’s breath stilled in her throat.  

"مجھے جانا ہے.خدا حافظ!"

The man ran from their sight before her father could reply. He whispered into the darkness desperately, begging it to follow the man before he became a ghost.

"بہت بہت شکریہ!"

Though she was sure the man was too far now to hear him, her father’s thanks lingered in her own heart, wondering why their escape could be thank-worthy if they were leaving her world behind them.

Several hours later and she could still see the moonlight reflecting off the water of the lake in her mind. Her eyes glazed over even as he father shook beneath where her forehead touched his shoulder. The steps of the border guard snapped loudly in her ears, louder than the buzzing flies.

“Alfor, Altea. Allura, Altea,” the man droned, his voice nasal and his eyes suspicious. He looked at the two and muttered to himself in Hindi before slamming their passports shut and handing them back without grace.

Amira’s father took them and Amira could feel his chest compress after breathing out for several long seconds. 

She looked out the window and wondered where they were going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Urdu is written right to left. :) I tried to configure it that way, but honestly some things might be scrambled. Ugh I certainly hope it reads okay because I really tried. :/  
> Also, in Kashmir, they speak multiple languages, depending on the region you live in. Amira/Allura speaks Urdu, English and Kashmiri.


	52. Taken II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: kidnapping, nonconsensual drug usage

Lance forgot his pencil. He hummed, and stopped walking toward the bus. He could leave it, but he didn’t want to.

If he went back to get it, he’d miss the bus. Missing the bus would give him an excuse not to go back home, to the new one he’d moved into. It wasn’t awful, he’d had worse, but he hated the way it smelled. It smelled like too many people piled into an elevator. It always felt like he was about to miss his floor and he couldn’t reach the button. It felt like slithering between bodies, uncomfortably touching unfamiliar people in order to reach a desperate destination, toward some kind of freedom from the claustrophobic walls that seemed unbreachable.

He walked back to the classroom and picked it up. His teacher hardly looked his way. She wasn’t a bad lady, he knew, but he hated her as much as she hated him. She hated him because he was loud, unfocused, “a distraction to his peers.” He hated her because she never saw past that.

He took the long way home and took his time doing it. He found a good sized rock along the way, and kicked it back and forth between his feet. He imagined himself running down a grassy field, white lines flying by him as a breeze caught his face. He would shoot into the goal and  _ waaaaaaaaayeee _ , the crowd would go wild, chanting his name,  _ Lance Lance Lance...! _

The stone flew away from Lance and he lifted his arms up, raising them above his head in a dance-like celebration. For a moment he was on top of the world, and the world looked back at him and smiled. For a moment, it wanted him to thrive.

The next, he felt his legs give out when something whacked him across the back of the head. He dropped and his knees fell to the ground, hard and audible. A black bag was thrown over his head and he forgot the pain and threw up his hands again, this time in desperation. He clawed at the bag but something grabbed his arms, another something grabbed his legs, he was thrown,  _ thrown _ down onto hard metal and even with the blood pumping through his ears he could hear the tires screeching as they ripped down the street.

Lance kicked and shouted, and multiple hands held him down against the bottom of the van. The men were shouting at him and Lance fired back at them, cursing and screaming and praying-- _ god _ was he praying. 

The bag ripped off his head suddenly and he saw a face above him. He furrowed his eyebrows and  _ screamed _ bloody murder into that horrible image, the horrible cracked face of a monster ready to devour him.

A hand flew down and forced itself over his mouth and nose. He breathed in and in a rush, in a sudden ache of regret, he knew he’d done the wrong thing.

How something as simple as breathing could be his undoing.

His brain became animated but his limbs faltered. His eyes were shut but when he opened them again, he didn’t see the face that wanted to eat him. Instead, he saw stars.

He reached out to touch them, and then his world fell into a black night.


	53. Abandoned III

Hunk looked at the room around him a second time, unsure of what he was seeing. He dropped his bag and searched the other room, searching for answers.

Nothing.

He circled back to the kitchen, looking for a note, looking for a clue. He looked inside the fridge, he looked on the counters. He looked in the frigging cabinets.

Nothing.

His arms felt heavy against his sides, but his body felt light, even as he dragged his feet to the couch. It was the only thing left in the apartment.

Well to be fair, there was trash around him. The bin was still full of takeout boxes, an ashtray still filled with smothered cigarettes rested on the floor beside him. He checked the corner of the room and the broken chair from last night was still there.

But his sister was gone. So was her piece-of-shit boyfriend.

Hunk felt an emptiness inside him that blew up like a balloon in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what to think.

Part of him was certainly relieved. That chair flying into his head last night wasn’t a fun occurrence, but it had become a normal one whenever Maile’s boyfriend got into a mood. Which happened as often as he saw Hunk.

Hunk had been careful, he’d tried to stay out of sight, but, well, his grandmother had predicted correctly. He was a big guy now, even for a sixteen-year-old. People wherever he went assumed he was older than he was, assumed he went to college, when he actually went to the high school down the street.

Or he had until now, it seemed.

Maile was gone. The apartment was empty. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was officially on his own.

He’d need a job, he thought, bringing his elbows onto his knees. He dropped his chin into his open hands. He’d need shelter. Did they have shelters for kids? He shuddered, thinking he might have to spend nights with those veteran homeless, the ones he always tried to avoid eye contact with.

Well, he was one of them now. Probably best not to get too high and mighty.

Hunk grabbed what he could from the apartment, everything he could use to start his new life. Maybe he could talk to a teacher, he thought, then shook his head.

Scratch that, they’d send him into foster care. Hunk didn’t want that. He’d been a sponge to his sister, and look where it got him. Alone in a dirty apartment.

He packed a bag, and shut the door behind him, more out of habit than necessity. He’d call his friend Toby. Toby had a cousin, who usually knew a guy who knew a guy.

Maybe they could work something out.


	54. Abandoned II

Keith ignored the wooden chopsticks and ate the gimbap with his fingers instead. He shoved the small roll into his mouth, and his cheeks burgeoned out as he chewed then swallowed, the lump almost too big until it wasn’t. It rolled down his esophagus and Keith pretended he was a giant snake and he forced the muscle to move his food down.

It worked and Keith kicked out his legs at the small victory. 

The heels of his shoes tapped against the cement block he sat on. The air smelled briny, like salt and sea and street food. He liked this spot in particular, because even if it had a lot of tourists, it still had the nicest view of the tree line jutting out of the coast. Sometimes he walked along there, hopping up and down the stone steps to get to the farthest ledge, but today he was hungry and content to eat his lunch on his own.

His mother was busy with a client, so he couldn’t stay in the room. Sometimes another woman would take care of him, but he was getting older now, so they trusted him to be on his own.

It wasn’t like before though. When he was very young, too young to remember, they told him he had an auntie taking care of him. An old woman, unmarried and unattached, with no children of her own. She would watch and care for him while his mother was out with the best clients, forgetting she even had a child.

But then everyone found out about Keith and no foreign name could make him unique enough to remind everyone that an escort had gotten sloppy enough to get pregnant.

She’d been kicked out, and the auntie could no longer be afforded.

Now they were near the main beach, where the crowds were big and the clientele a little less sophisticated. There were women enough to care for him, but like his mother, they didn’t have a big interest in him. He was cute enough to keep around, but not enough to pay attention to.

He finished his gimbap and sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the block. The sun was warm on his face and seagulls were active around him, looking for any scraps he might’ve dropped.

He startled when a loud thump pounded beside him. He jumped and looked to his left and he saw Jeong, the man who took care of his mother and the other women. He’d dropped a backpack next to Keith and was already leaning down to grab Keith by the arm and haul him up.

“어디 가?” Keith asked rudely. He never liked Jeong, and Jeong felt the same about him.

“공항에,” the man responded shortly, without explanation. Why on earth would he be taking him to the airport? Where could they possibly go? Keith had never even left Busan before.

“왜?”

Jeong looked down at him, and Keith felt small suddenly, insignificant. Jeong’s black eyes felt nothing for him, and once Keith was out of his sight, he’d probably never think about him again. 

“너를 필요하는것 아니지,” he said. A shiver ran down Keith’s spine.

He waved a hand out in the street and a cab came by. He handled Keith, shoving him into the cab roughly and handing some cash to the driver.

“공항에 가 주세요,” he told the driver, who nodded in understanding. To Keith, his gaze passed right through him and his words hit him like a crash. “성민은 기다려. 비행기에 수송할거야.”

He smiled, his lips curling on each side, and Keith looked at him and knew it’s exactly what a real snake looked like before he opened wide.

“미국에  재미있게 보내,” he said, and motioned for the driver to take off.

Keith stared out the window for a moment before settling into his seat. He pulled his bag into his lap and ignored the sting of betrayal. He wouldn’t miss his mother anyway.

How could one miss what they never loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Keith: Where are we going?  
> Jeong: To the airport.  
> Keith: Why?  
> Jeong: You're not needed anymore.  
> Jeong (to the driver): Take him to the airport. (to Keith:) Seong-Min will pick you up, he'll take you to your plane. Have fun in America.


	55. Abandoned I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: domestic abuse, suicide

Shiro had long accepted his mother’s death. It was the only thing that tied him and his father together. They had both loved her.

But...she had loved Shiro more.

Shiro thought about her love as often as he could. Her smiles, her touches--her smiles were like an open door and her touches were fresh laundered bedsheets he rubbed his nose in, relishing in the freshness and the warmth. Nothing seemed so terrible when she held him in her arms and whispered sweet things to him.

His father would walk into the room and she would favor Shiro over him, her eyes were always drawn to her son over her lover.

The first time Zarkon hit her, Shiro couldn’t breathe. He was so young, he’d never seen another set of humans in a functional relationship, so while the hot anger flashed through his heart, he did not act on it.

That anger became a friend in later beatings. The fourth time he hit her, Zarkon had taken the alarm clock and smashed her over the head with it, Shiro flew at him, pummeling soft fists into his head and shoulders. But his fists were more like raw peaches; they did nothing against the veteran criminal. Shiro had been swatted away but anger comforted him, pat him on the back and whispered in his ear, “try again.”

Anger gripped his shoulder when the bruises lingered on his mother’s arms and face, nudged him every time he saw his father. Zarkon never glanced at him, and so Shiro never knew his true power over him. How everything about him made Zarkon less, even if it was in the eyes of a simple woman.

The day she died Shiro’s friend Anger was nowhere to be found. Anger left him and instead was an aching void, not an enemy, but something dangerous, something even rats in alleys avoided and ran from. Emptiness plagued him and he saw in his mind whiteness. A cold white, the kind that blinded and froze and reminded someone of a waiting room that never ended.

Shiro threw things, called for Anger, but it never came. Shiro looked at the blood surrounding his mother, the large gashes that ran down her forearms, and Shiro _felt_.

Her eyes looked purple in the reflected light, a shade that matched her robe.

He knew to be angry at Zarkon, but Zarkon was as devastated as he was. Weeks went by without any action being taken by their mob. Months went by and Shiro saw his father sitting before the chromium lion, hands folded and voice low, whispering.

Shiro took hands with his friend Anger. Anger saw him through the bitter years before and he’d be the only friend he’d have amidst Zarkon and the others.

Shiro would rely on Anger to fill the void, and he’d make sure--he’d make sure no one who was Zarkon’s enemy would ever feel the chasm of loss.

If Shiro could help it, no one he cared for would ever fall again.


	56. Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: hurt!lance

“K-Keith,” Lance stammered, spitting up blood and laughing through it. “I can’t--I can’t feel my legs.”

Keith knelt down and examined Lance’s body from head to toe. It was remarkable he’d survived the nearly three-story fall. He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened--even now his mind was still a little hazy, too much vodka--but one second Lance had been there and the next he was flying, then falling,  _ plummeting _ toward the ground.

He’d landed with a sickening thump and silence had pervaded the whole house. Now people were rushing to get out of the mansion, someone had called the ambulance, which meant cops, and everyone knew cops at the Galra mansion spelled several arrests.

Keith could hear Lance’s rasping breath. It sounded like a record needle skipping over and over again after the last song had finished. Someone had fallen asleep and forgot to turn it off.

Keith poked Lance’s foot and Lance laughed, voicebox wheezing painfully.

“You can feel that?”

Lance turned his head to the side and spat out a large wad of blood. “Nope.”

“Stupid,” Keith chided.

Shiro dropped down and Keith looked at him. He was sweating profusely and his eyes had bags the size of small planets. Shiro raised a questioning glance to Keith, who rolled his eyes and stared back down at Lance.

“The books are safe,” Shiro said. He reached out a hand and rested it to Lance’s head gently, hardly touching the tips of his hair. “You called an ambulance?” he asked Keith, who nodded. Shiro’s eyes looked grim but there was a small smile donning his lips. “You okay, buddy?”

Lance scoffed and grinned. “You know it. Just took a dive.”

Shiro smiled a little wider. “You did always want to fly, didn’t you?”

“It sucks. Don’t try it,” Lance advised and Shiro even chuckled a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith could see Shiro’s hand holding Lance’s. Keith tightened his into a fist.

He never understood  _ how _ .

The ambulance came to take Lance away. They didn’t let Keith inside, not that he’d asked to go along. But Shiro requested to go along. He was denied at first, but Shiro had a way of turning negotiations into non-negotiations. 

He jumped into the back and nodded to Keith.

“You know what to do while I’m gone,” Shiro said and Keith silently gave him his word with just a look.

The ambulance drove away, lights flashing and siren whirring as it left Keith there, standing on the terrace. 

Alone.


	57. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: abusive relationships, self-destructive behavior resulting from miserable self-esteem

Keith took off for a week. Lance had been in their room when he’d heard the garage door open and the screeching sound of wheels follow after. Lance looked outside the window and Keith was gone, he’d taken the red Jaguar out.

He didn’t come back for a week.

In the meantime, it left Lance to deal with the others on his own, and that was really, truly, a disaster waiting to happen. It always began and ended with Shiro.

“You’re a fucking pain, Lance,” said the oldest through gritted teeth. He had Lance in a chokehold and held him a few inches off the ground. Lance wheezed out a laugh.

Lance knew Keith was Shiro’s favorite. His half-brother, his  _ real _ brother, not some pesky add-on that Lance was. Then Pidge, because Pidge was small and clever and still fighting everything they went through. Hunk followed, because even though Shiro didn’t consider him part of the Family, he still added value to the group. Hunk was still kind and took care of Pidge, and was able to steer Lance away from bothering Shiro. Usually.

After Hunk was the rest of the Galra Family,  _ then _ the underlings,  _ then _ all of the people they extorted and threatened for their livelihood, and  _ then _ all of the most terrifying creatures of the sea, and  _ then _ there was Lance.

“If you don’t fucking get lost I  _ promise _ I will break your arm  _ worse _ than the last time.” Shiro spat he was so angry and Lance wiggled his toes. His head was spinning and it was giving him a different kind of high, getting choked like this.

Lance, the screw-up. Lance, the obnoxious, blow-snorting, orphaned low life who came into their house and made every mistake that Shiro inevitably had to clean up. Lance always felt like a kid around Shiro, like he had half a brain, even sober. Because no matter how much Lance tried at being Shiro’s right-hand straight-shooting man, Keith was always better, Pidge was always smarter, and Hunk was always handier.

Lance, the black sheep of the Galra mob.

The worst thing about it was that Lance wouldn’t try so hard if he didn’t think, on some level, Shiro  _ sort of _ liked him. When he’d first arrived--a lot of it was a blur, he was on crack a lot and what he didn’t remember on the drugs he certainly didn’t remember off them--Shiro had been... _ nice _ . He hadn’t been kind, he hadn’t gone out of his way to help Lance, or even welcome him, but he had cared what happened to Lance.

He remembered the look in Shiro’s eyes every time he and Keith had laid into each other in that first year.  _ Conflicted _ . He favored Keith to be sure, but he didn’t like seeing Lance hurt either, it affected him.

So when Lance couldn’t be the best in their group, couldn’t get Big Brother’s approval, when Keith wasn’t around to bother, he sought to just have Shiro’s attention. And that meant pain. A lot of it.

Shiro gave Lance’s throat one last squeeze and then threw him across the room. It was remarkable, really, Lance thought as he flew as easily as a limp doll. Shiro was so powerful, and he always used all of his strength when he disciplined Lance.

“Get out,” Shiro said. His voice was low and sounded like a fist pounding into a gravel-filled punching bag. Lance rubbed his fingers lightly across his throat. He backed out of the room and Shiro watched him go the whole time; he was a wolf casting out the stray of the pack.

Lance winked as he left, and then snorted the rest of his coke stash. He jumped in the pool for a swim, and luckily Hunk fished him out before he drowned.

What fun was a Thursday if Lance didn’t almost get killed in one way or another.


	58. the plan, part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can refer to Chapter 48 for reference on this one :)
> 
> Warnings: somewhat anti-religious sentiments

Step two: infect.

The beautiful devastation wreaked by cancer was quite poetic, Allura thought. It effectively created a virus infecting the cells of the body. The body tried to attack those cells, therefore killing the body.

A catch-22. Want to survive? Kill the body. Want to die? Leave the body be, and die anyway. 

That was how Allura would defeat the Galra.

She could stand outside and pummel as much as she wanted, other mobs had been doing it for years, and all of them died, went broke, or went to prison. 

Again, lack of level-headedness and organization would always lead to self ruination.

But Allura had learned the lesson her father had learned too late: the most effective way to destroy was from the inside. It was a lesson Nidhi had taught her well. The most important one. Try as Allura might to disgrace the memory of NIdhi, she had been most valuable to Allura in every way.

And now it was time Allura grew up, and used that knowledge to destroy her enemies, no matter the cost.

Nidhi taught her that too. Sacrifices were necessary to be a good leader.

And now Allura had Shiro, her way in, under her thumb. Now she was on her way to getting herself beneath the flesh of the Galra, where she could learn their secrets and turn them in on themselves.

Now, it was a matter of patience and perseverance. Allura had plenty of both.

Perseverance she’d learned from her mother. Her mother had prayed, despite the police in the streets pointing guns and threats in the faces of her fellow muslim. Well, no longer “fellow” as it were.

No matter, perseverance taught her the value of faith. Not in God, but in oneself. If one had faith in their own self, one could accomplish anything. Faith had given her mother life (it was God that let her die).

Patience, that, she’d learned from her father. Her father had waited until they got to America, waited until he built up his empire, then struck their home by selling ammunition to the other side, the side that promised revenge against those who’d killed his wife, her mother.

But he’d died, too. The reason?

Trust. Naivete. The unfortunate inability to see the evil that lay in every person, even Nidhi.

Because no one could be trusted. Everyone must be put under the microscope and suspected of wrongdoing and deception. Everyone was a criminal just waiting for the chance to burst from their casket of propriety and social restrictions. The natural order was chaos, anarchy, and Allura would force the Galra to annihilate themselves by releasing the monster from inside the house.

She would exorcise the demon and reign the new underworld with an iron fist. After all, following anarchy came its opposite, dictatorship.

Allura would be its queen.


	59. The seed

“What do you mean?” Allura asked. She rolled over in the bed, taking the sheets with her. They bundled under her arm and Shiro watched the shadows of the folds move as she adjusted herself. “You mean after all he’s done you still follow him?”

She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms under her chin. She stared at Shiro from under her lashes. It stole his breath away. “He doesn’t sound like much of a father to me,” she said, accent falling off her tongue in waves. He could never quite pin it down, and he felt he never wanted to know exactly where she’d come from. It would make her too real, and Allura felt like a dream, one he’d never be able to remember when he woke up.

“But of course, my father was always kind to me. I can’t imagine what it’s like having a father who would beat me for trying to protect my mother.”

“Was?” Shiro asked, running his fingers over her arm. Her eyes flashed for a moment, and Shiro’s veins froze over. Just as quickly her expression changed, and Shiro’s blood thawed, creating a tingling sensation throughout his body. He shivered. She shrugged.

“Is,” she corrected. “He’s just away right now.”

“What does he do?” Shiro asked, feeling bold. He could command an entire army of Galra foot-soldiers, but Allura held his respect. He never wanted to push her.

She grinned, and Shiro knew she was sharing in a joke he didn’t know the punchline to. “A traveling salesman,” she answered.

She reached forward then, taking Shiro’s chin in her fingers and bringing him toward her. She kissed him gently, and Shiro wondered how even under the scent of sweat and sex she still smelled like roses.

“Sounds exotic,” he said, smiling at her. It was easy to want to smile at Allura. She was a sun, a star, radiating light and energy. He wondered what it would be like, to see her outside these walls, to see her shine during the day. He imagined it would be wonderful.

“It is,” she smiled back, touching the tip of her nose to his, a gentle intimacy.

She rolled onto her back and began to card her fingers through his hair. Shiro allowed her this, remaining still so she could love him, dote on him, even if it was just in his mind the way she seemed to give such extra care to him, sometimes.

Maybe she loved him. Maybe she  _ could  _ love him.

Maybe Shiro could be worthy of love.

She sighed and Shiro felt her calmness turn to sleepiness. Her movements slowed and soon her hand simply rested by his ear, forgetting to cherish him as she had been.

“Maybe you should kill him,” she said before falling asleep.

And maybe, Shiro thought, he should.


	60. Pliant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick correction: it was mentioned/implied in an earlier chapter that Lance had been forced to smoke cocaine in order to get him hooked on the drug and then get him to sell to children. I'm correcting myself to change that to crack. So crack was the drug he was forced on, now he consumes cocaine of his free will. There's a substantial difference between the two drugs, crack is much more addictive and...harmful? I don't feel right saying that. All of these drugs are harmful. Don't do them.
> 
> warnings: nonconsensual drug use, hurt! lance

Keith stood with his back against the wall, facing the hallway across from Lance’s room. Behind him in the room, he could hear the youngest of them puking his guts out in the toilet before the sliding of feet gave way to the sound of a mattress squeaking and a pained moan.

Shiro leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, looking into Lance’s room. His arms folded over his chest, and he watched everything Keith only heard.

“How long have you been sleeping together?” Shiro asked, still looking at Lance. Keith saw his older brother out of the corner of his eye, but made no move other than a one-shoulder shrug.

“What, you mean you just realized?” Keith said, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want Lance to know he was around. Why, he wasn’t sure.

“Nah,” Shiro said, finally turning his head to look at Keith. “But I figured it’d be nice to know when the anniversary will be.”

Keith rolled his foot on his heel, turning the toes from left to right. “Couple months.”

“Ah.”

Silence fell between them and it felt like a knife. Keith was comfortable around knives, he enjoyed the steel, the almost wet glide of them across flesh, but this felt like a twisting dagger sawing into his hand.

It was...uncomfortable.

Keith ignored Shiro as he pushed back against the wall. He continued passed him and walked into what was now his and Lance’s room. He moved to the side of the bed and looked down at Lance.

Lance, skin normally a creamy brown, looked like his flesh was rotting. Sweat beaded around his forehead and upper lip, and even in his sleep his body gave small dry heaves, trying to rid itself of the poison.

First they’d forced the crack on him, and now heroine. Shit. 

Keith removed his jacket, and then his boots. Shiro continued to stand in the doorway, not moving a muscle. The casual stance could’ve fooled anyone except Keith. This was Shiro, standing guard, and woe come to anyone trying to enter the threshold uninvited.

The crack, that Keith understood. They needed Lance to sell, and the crack made him desperate to comply, so long as he got another hit. Make him desperate, and he’d willingly do the work.

But now it was heroine. Where the crack made Lance irritating and unbearable, the heroine--

Keith would stop to this.

He removed his belt and slid into the bed. He took Lance, pliant as dough, and turned him to lay against Keith. Keith lay on his back and carded his fingers through Lance’s hair, allowing the cool air to filter through. Lance shivered beneath him.

“‘Night, Shiro.”

Shiro didn’t reply.


	61. Welcome II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd recommend chapter 23 for reference.

Keith had no idea what he was doing and it was pissing him off.

Pidge scoffed beside him. “I knew you’d be a button smasher.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if any of this made sense,” he retorted, smashing a few more buttons before his screen flashed red. He’d died again. Video games were the worst.

“You’re too impulsive, you need to use more strategy,” Pidge advised, clicking buttons and holding her controller steady while Keith waved his around like he was flying a kite with two turbo engines. “When is Lance getting back again?”

Keith shrugged. “Initiations usually don’t last long,” he said. “But this is Lance. He might do something stupid, like talk during it. They might test him too, since he’s not, you know,” Keith jerked his head to the side with meaning. “‘Family.’” 

Keith thought back to his own initiation. The blood, the chanting, the stupid incantation. All while across from Zarkon. His eyes glowed yellow in the light of the candles, and while Keith hated admitting it, there was a moment he was terrified, actually terrified of what his life would become after he said those words.

“Vrepit sa,” Keith muttered to himself, and spat on the floor. He smashed a few more buttons, and finally managed to get his character to jump a couple buildings.

“What does that mean?” Pidge asked. Keith gave him a glance. Pidge was always too curious for his own good. Keith sometimes felt resentful toward him. Pidge had a normal family. Somewhere out there, they were probably looking for her. When all this came crashing down, which someday, Keith knew it would, she would have somewhere to go, a safety net.

Keith was free falling. He, Shiro, and now Lance, they had all taken the plunge. It was too late for them. There was nothing outside these walls for them, not anymore.

Keith scoffed. Not ever.

“It doesn’t matter that it means,” he said. “It’s just another way to control, to brainwash--” Keith yelled in frustration when his character fell off one of the buildings into a crack and, figures, died.

He heard the door click open and Lance walked inside and made a small sound, an “oh!” when he saw what they were playing. Keith threw his controller to the ground and Lance jumped at the opportunity. He sat behind Keith, his front to Keith’s back, and reached around him for the controller.

Lance rested his chin on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith leaned back into him, letting Lance, for once, take control.

Lance quipped with Pidge, made saucy comments and managed to hold his own, keeping Pidge at bay from his base and even getting a lot of his own hits in. He chattered in Keith’s ear while Keith watched the screen.

He put his hand on Lance’s knee and scooted him even closer, so not an inch was between them. Lance obliged and even curled one leg over Keith’s, boxing him in like a koala to a tree.

Keith wondered if Lance had been scared, too. Then Pidge shot Lance’s character in the face and won the game. While they whooped and Lance moaned and challenged Pidge to a rematch, Keith thought about Lance’s arms around his waist. They were really family now.


	62. Ep 4515

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: this is long for a drabble??? but no actual warnings :) (except the usual cocaine usage but you're used to that now)

“And now here is the host of Jeopardy, Alex Trebek!” called the announcer. Lance set up the cocaine on the coffee table, humming with excitement and practically vibrating in his seat. 

“Alright everyone take your bets, see how long you’ll last against the legendary--the amazing--Lance Galra,” he said, making a dab movement before dancing the salsa while seated.

“He’s way too good at this,” Pidge mumbled to Hunk behind their hand. “Lance, one day I’m gonna find out how you’re cheating.”

“What? Just because I smoke cocaine and fuck my brother you think I don’t have a brain? How small minded of you Pidge, really.”

“Lance, shut up, we can’t hear the ques--” Shiro began, before he was promptly interrupted by Trebek posing an answer, beginning the game.

“--every picnic basket that’s in Jellystone park.”

“Who is Yogi Bear, duh. Fuckin’ obvi’,” Lance unwrapped a lollipop and stuck it in his mouth, slurping obscenely.

“Shit, he’s right,” Shiro muttered, flabbergasted.

“Just ‘cause you never watched TV doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t cultured.”

“Shut up, Lance I’m trying to watch,” Keith said, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “I need to hear the answer if I want to get the question--”

“--A large purple-ish snorkasaurus--”

“Who is Deano--” Lance winked and waved his finger-guns to Hunk.

“Oh fuck it,” Keith said, leaning his head back and falling on his elbows.

“Napster helped popularize this music compression format--” said Trebek, and Pidge stepped up to bat.

“Ha!” Pidge called triumphantly. “What is mp3, motherfuckers.”

“Pidge, language,” Shiro chided. Pidge rolled his eyes and placed a pill on his tongue, sucking it loudly.

“All right ‘W to W,’ here we go baby,” Lance grinned, rubbing his hands together.

“I never know what these categories mean, man--” Hunk said, shaking his head at Keith. Keith’s expression had soured. His contrite expression grew redder and redder with each question. He was gonna blow, Hunk knew it.

“The 1807 Treaty of Tilsit created this duchy of this, now a Polish city.”

“What is Warsaw,” Lance said, licking his lollipop and winking at Keith. Keith turned dangerously purple and Lance’s grin was only speeding up the inevitable.

“Canned pears are most likely to be this variety.”

“Oh my god, Bartlett,” said Hunk.

“What is Barlett?” said the contestant, and Trebek deemed him correct.

“I’m right!” Hunk whooped.

“Keep your shirt on,” Lance said around the lollipop while rolling his sleeves. “We’re in this for the long haul.”

“Succotash is a southern dish of lima beans, sometimes chopped sweet peppers and this--”

“What’s corn, bitches!” Hunk yelled triumphantly.

“Wow Hunk, you might have a chance--” Pidge began.

“Livres de Francais for 200,” a contestant called for the next category.

“Well that was fun while it lasted,” Pidge moaned while Lance chuckled under his breath.

“Not my fault I know romance languages,” Lance shrugged before annihilating the topic.

“L’art de la Guerre--What is the Art of War--Le Silence des Agneaux--what is the Silence of the Lambs--A la Poursuite d’Octobre Rouge--what is The Hunt for Red October--La Ferme des Animaux--what is--”

“--Animal Farm!” Keith shouted. Hunk could see the sweat rolling down his face from exertion. Mental trivia just wasn’t his thing. He’d pat him on the back if he wasn’t afraid of losing his arm.

“Autant en Emporte le Vent,” said Trebek and Lance raised his eyebrows at the rest of them.

“Oh, would you care to try?” he said, pointing his lollipop at the others, who either groaned or stared daggers in return. “No takers? All right asshats, watch and learn: what is ‘Gone with the Wind!’” he paused, waiting for a contestant to answer. When the three also remained silent on screen, Lance’s mouth dropped open. “What? No one got that? Motherfuckers, I could’ve owned that shit! Hunk pass the Benjamin, would ya?”

Lance took a line of blow using the hundred dollar bill, and Pidge followed after. Hunk took back the makeshift straw and eyed it warily before shrugging and taking some coke himself. He passed it to Keith, who finished the line and grabbed the second eightball and began lining more, muttering to himself all the while.

Lance might be on a high now but his ass would be feeling this later.

Trebek continued to call out the categories, and Hunk really needed another hit before his headache grew worse.

“Yeah, I Play the Oboe,” continued Trebek and Lance barked a laugh.

“Oh watch out, the  _ Korean’s _ got this one,” Lance taunted, sticking his nose in Keith’s face.

“Fuck you, you racist,” Keith said, shoving Lance’s face away.

“You can’t call another minority a racist it doesn’t work that way--”

“‘Wanna Make Something Out Of It?’” recited Trebek and Keith kicked Lance’s knee with his toe.

“What he said, Lance.”

“Oh my god did Keith just use Alex Trebek for a comeback? I am  _ speechless. _ ” Except he most notably wasn’t, because he continued to cry out answers he both knew for certain and gave educated guesses for, which usually proved to be right. ”Oh next category ‘The Movie Where Keanu Played…’ Oh stand  _ aside _ mon amies…” So Lance continued to pummel their asses--trivia style. “Speed--! Point Break--! The Devil’s Advocate--!”

“Which you clearly are,” Pidge said, rolling her head lazily from side to side. She’d given up in the first minute and a half, really.

“The highlight of the classical period repertoire is his oboe and strings quartet of 1781,” said Trebek, and Lance fumbled for a moment.

“Uh, Mozart?” he was, of course, right on the money. “BOOM! I AM A GOD. Thank you foster family number four for having super classy neighbors across the complex. Hey. Keith. Is this blowing your mind right now, babe? Does my intelligent brain turn you on?”

“I will fucking kill you in your sleep.”

“Love you, too, hun,” he winked while Keith looked like he could fry an egg on his forehead. By the time final jeopardy rolled around, Pidge was making shadow puppets on the wall, Keith looked like he’d swallowed a shoe, and Shiro was suspiciously quiet in the corner.

“George Washington is the topic? Oh this is it I will now go from god to immortal motherfucking creator of the universe,” Lance chuckled and cracked his knuckles. “Watch me rise!”

“A man in this profession: ‘I am ready to pay whatever you may charge me,’” quoted Trebek, and then a miracle happened.

“DENTIST, YOU ASSHOLES!” shouted Shiro from the back. The room became a deadly kind of quiet, and Lance’s lollipop fell from his mouth and made a small plopping noise as it fell to the hardwood floor.

“Dentist, that is absolutely right,” congratulated Trebek from the screen. Hunk began laughing. Pidge joined in, and soon enough Lance giggled and even Keith cracked a smile.

For that, they let Shiro pick takeout that night.


	63. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: slight panic attack

“So have you given any thought to your new name?” said the attorney.

Katie blushed. “Um, I think I’d like to go ahead and keep my first name,” he said. “Katie, not Pidge. And um, I’d like ‘Gunderson’ to be the surname. Please.”

“Okay,” he said, taking rushed notes and not looking at Katie. Hunk squeezed their fingers and they squeezed back. “And you?” The attorney checked his notes from a previous page. “I have your name as Kekoa Lui, would you like to keep your first name? We recommend you at least keep your same initials, since it’ll be best for your memory.”

“Uh, I go by Hunk really, so uh, I’ll keep that.” The attorney shrugged and wrote it down. 

“Last name?”

Hunk had thought about it, and he still wasn’t sure. But the guy was looking kind of impatient, and Hunk kind of felt like ants were crawling all over him.

“Lavi.” The attorney’s pen scribbled his answer and he raised his mouth into an almost-smile.

“Okay then, Katie Gunderson and Hunk Lavi. Soon a Marshal will escort you to your new place of living. As you know this has become an international case, so your next location will not be in the United States.”

Hunk and Katie looked at each other. 

“Uh,” Hunk began, “we actually didn’t know that.”

The attorney had been looking at his phone, not paying attention to the total lack of understanding on his clients’ faces and not caring either way. “Oh?” he said, not looking up from his iPhone. “Well don’t worry about it, the agent will let you know more.”

He reached out his hand and Hunk shook it lightly. It was kind of sweaty, and it was impulse that made him wipe it on his shirt after.

“Good luck,” he said, and left the room. Katie jumped into his arms the moment the door clicked shut.

“Hunk we’re gonna be okay, just breathe.”

Hunk hadn’t realized he was crying again and going into a panic attack. His head felt woozy and he could hear his breath coming in and out too quickly. Katie cupped his hands over Hunk’s mouth and nose, acting as a makeshift paper bag. Hunk breathed into the small hands, and watched Katie carefully.

“K-Katie,” he said, when he’d finally calmed down. Katie sat back down in her seat, but didn’t let go of his hand.

“Yeah Hunk?”

“I’m,” he said. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

Katie looked at him with kind brown eyes. He’d never noticed the color before, when he wore glasses. 

“Me too, Hunk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Lance and Keith having some light-hearted gang-related fun, public indecency, more Lance and Keith, and a couple surprises because I haven't written like 3 of the next chapters D:
> 
> As always, your kind reviews, and even your critical ones, are appreciated and loved. Thanks for coming with me on this demented journey. <3


	64. cue music theme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: drugs

Lance fucking loved undercover missions.

He got to dress up for awesome parties and there was always a hidden gun on him, usually several if he could manage it.

This time he and Keith were partners working a bankers’ conference. Sounded dull, but bankers off-hours were crazy as  _ fuck _ . They did all the current drugs. The men tended to circulate the uppers: ecstasy, cocaine, all the rest. Lance sometimes grabbed a few downers though from the women who liked to share with him: Soneryl, Amytal, Mendomin--any barbiturates, basically.

Sometimes if he got lucky he’d be with a particularly psychedelic group of depraved business folk and he’d come away with pocketfuls of mushrooms, which Pidge enjoyed.

Today their job was easy: rob the shit out of the joint. There was a safe in the backroom, undetermined combination, but that never stopped Lance. Not to brag or anything, but if you needed a guy to crack a code, it was Lance.

Keith broke the bones, Lance stole the intel. No one ever saw it coming. With Lance’s off-the-wall antics and Keith’s stone cold demeanor they usually figured the opposite. They always underestimated Lance, and today, Lance was cool with that.

He took a few lines of coke and pocketed some ketamine for later. This was a particularly young group of bankers and they all seemed to get the same memo to partake in anesthetics. Keith nodded to him from the top of the stairs, cooly making his way to the back in plain sight. Lance watched as his black suit clung tightly to his body. He bit his lip as Keith moved silently away, wondering to himself how long it’d be before he could get Keith naked and under him. Maybe if he worked quickly enough Keith wouldn’t mind Lance topping tonight.

Lance adjusted his white suit jacket and slipped out the back, wandering around the pool and throwing a few girls in as he made his way around the house. Their screams were music to his ears, and he couldn’t really help his sauntering.

When he finally made it to the office a few minutes later, Keith was cocking a gun and pointing it at his face. Lance smiled and reached out his hand, running his fingers along Keith’s red tie. The formal look was always a good look on Keith, even if his hair was a constant bird’s nest.

“Miss me?” he asked.

“Get to work,” Keith said, removing the gun and standing beside Lance. He gave Lance a side eye while Lance rolled his neck and shoulders, cracking his knuckles and psyching himself up.

Pidge was always trying to throw some new fancy gadget at Lance, telling him it would make the process faster, but Lance was a man of tried and true. He wasn’t about to let a mission go to chance, and Lance trusted his own hands more than anything.

He took off his left shoe. He peeled the sock from his foot and felt around for the magnet inside. Neodymium. The nasty fucker could scramble a phone or hard drive in moments, and the safe didn’t stand a chance against it.

Lance pulled the lever open after only a few seconds of work, and he was actually disappointed. Keith and he emptied the safe quickly, shoving the documents and papers into a briefcase they’d throw to Shiro over the fence.

Before they left Keith straightened Lance’s tie, and gave him a small nod before jumping out the window with the briefcase. Lance followed him out with a grin on his face. Oh he’d  _ definitely _ be in charge tonight.

But first he was going to request McDonald’s.


	65. decency plz

“Your hair looks really stupid in a ponytail.”

“Yeah? Say it to my face,” Keith said, eyes narrowing and body turning to face Lance.

“Bitch, I just did. What’re you gonna do about it?” Lance grinned, leaning closer to Keith.

Keith said nothing, instead he just grabbed Lance’s jacket and pulled. Lance shoved him against the wall, infurious grin still taped to his face as he bridged the gap between them.

Keith lifted one leg and wrapped it around Lance’s back. He felt Lance’s laughter on his face in warm puffs while Lance lifted his other leg to cross around him. He pressed Keith against the wall and Keith tugged again, harder, forcing Lance to carry his weight and bend to his will.

“Ugh, would you guys get a room? Like why do you always have to do this in public? We are outside a frigging  _ library, _ yo,” Hunk complained. He would’ve probably thrown his hands in the air but they were filled with Pidge’s books.

“Hunk, you should be used to it by now,” Pidge said, avoiding eye contact with Keith and Lance and carrying a stack of books higher than Hunk’s. Not that they should’ve bothered anyway, since they were full on making out now.

“Gross,” Hunk said, shaking his head and walking towards the car. “Now who’s gonna drive us?”

“I can drive,” Pidge said helpfully, using the edge of a book to push his glasses farther up his nose.

“Dude nice try, you’re like 12.”

“I’m 13,” Pidge pouted.

“You’re not driving, Pidge,” said Lance from around Keith’s tongue. Pidge and Hunk both grimaced.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Pidge said, adjusting the books in his arms.

“Yeah I can,” Lance said. His mouth was now free and Keith was sucking on his neck, while Lance pressed against Keith harder, and with slightly more  _ intent _ .

“Okay, that’s it,” Hunk said. “I’ll fucking drive. This is bullshit.”

Keith scraped his teeth against Lance’s neck. “Hunk, you don’t know how to drive.”

“Crashing and experiencing an untimely death is preferable to this freakshow.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Lance cackled. “I’d share but Keith doesn’t like to.” He pulled on Keith’s ponytail and his stepbrother growled in response before sticking his tongue in his mouth again.

“Okay,” Pidge sighed. “Hunk, how about me and you go back inside and start up on making plans for the self-buttering toaster and when Keith and Lance are done  _ violating public decency laws _ , they can come back and get us. Sound fair?”

Lance and Keith said nothing; they just continued to grind against each other. Hunk and Pidge made their way back inside, shaking their heads and bemoaning how this happened anytime they let these two loose in normal society.


	66. girls just wanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no actual warnings, but it might be annoying conversation for any agender/gender fluid/non binary folks

“So, what does that mean exactly?” asked Allura, leaning her weight on one leg. Her hip jutted out in such a way she looked like she was posing for a Magnum photoshoot. Allura always looked like that, honestly.

Pidge sighed, blowing their hair from their forehead. If fell back in exactly the same position.

“It just means I have no gender. I just don’t identify as a guy, a girl, whatever.”

Allura bunched her eyebrows together in thought, continuing to flip through the designer dresses like someone was rifling through trash. It put Pidge on edge, since she couldn’t tell if Allura was making that face because of her, or because of the clothes.

The wooden hangers clacked together as she tossed each dress down the line, and she opened her mouth to speak. “So like, eventually you’ll choose? You’ll pick whatever feels right?”

Pidge shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Allura took one dress off the rack and held it up to her body. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and hummed. “Sounds confusing.”

Pidge cracked a smile. “You have no idea.” When he looked in the mirror at Allura she was staring back at him with a small smile of her own.

“So, I get that you don’t identify as one gender,” she said, snapping her fingers so the attendant would take the dress to the register while Allura continued to browse, courtesy of Shiro’s credit card. “But do you have a preference? Like, when all is said and done, do you  _ want _ to be a girl? Or a they? Or is that the same as identifying as a gender?”

Pidge shook her head. “Not the same. Thinking I want to be a boy doesn’t make me one.” Pidge chewed on their cheek thoughtfully. “I mean I can want to have four arms but that doesn’t meant I have them. I can want an IQ of 180 but it doesn’t mean I have it.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Allura said, rubbing pale pink fabric between her fingers like it were glue she was trying to clean off her hands. “What do you  _ want _ to be?”

Pidge watched Allura tuck a piece of white blonde hair behind her ear, only for it to fall again, delicately bouncing against her brown cheek.

Pidge sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he lied. 

They continued to shop with Allura, seeing her try on dresses and finally take her pick from the litter. She watched Allura slide Shiro’s card through the machine and take her purchase, throwing the bag smoothly over her shoulder while she suggested lunch at a nearby place.

Pidge thought she might want to be a girl, if she had to choose.


	67. the plan, part III

“Why wait?” Keith slammed his fist on the table, half standing while Lance held him back with a hand on his forearm. “Why not just take them out  _ now  _ then?”

“Because Keith,” Lance said. “You can’t just blow things up all the time like a psycho.”

“Pot to the kettle,” Keith replied, tapping his t’s harshly.

“A pilot and a driver are not the same thing,” Lance returned, and Shiro shut them up with a gesture.

“Look, we have three weeks to plan everything out, but this is happening. We all need to be on board with this because everyone is necessary to ending this.” Shiro stood, bringing himself to his full height. He looked every bit a leader, and Keith even felt his own spine straighten in response. Shiro always had that effect on him.

“But do we really have the manpower?” Pidge chimed in. His glasses reflected the light from the overhead beam, giving Keith no indication what he was thinking. “I know you, Keith and Lance understand what it is you have to do, but Allura? We don’t know you. How are you going to handle the pressure? Have you even held a gun before?”

Allura didn’t smile, but it felt like she did. “I have no problem handling firearms,” she replied smoothly. “Worry about yourself, little one.”

Pidge grumbled under her breath, something about “not being that little,” while Hunk’s hands shook.

Keith frowned. It was uncharacteristic of Hunk to be so worried, he was usually too high to care about anything. But he was sober for this meeting and his eyes danced from side to side while his teeth practically chattered.

“Are--are you sure about this? I mean, is three weeks enough time? And Pidge is right, like, I don’t know how to hold a gun, I can’t help you. And like how many guys will respond in that amount of time? What if they’re quicker than you think? What if Zarkon doesn’t show up? What if he survives? What if--”

“Hunk,” Shiro cut though, and Hunk slapped his hands to his mouth, quieting himself. “Like you said, we have three weeks. Pidge is starting to undergo the treatments again--” Everyone tried not to look at Pidge as she sunk lower in her chair, “--so we need to act now. We can’t allow him to get away with this anymore. This is my family.”

Shiro’s eyes flashed and for a moment everyone was still, waiting. Keith’s attention was riveted to his brother as he waited for the trigger attack to come.

But it didn’t this time.

“I won’t see him destroy it,” Shiro finished. His trembling shoulders flattened out and Allura took a step forward from behind him.

“No, he won’t,” she said, holding Shiro together with her stare. “He won’t destroy another family ever again.”

Keith felt the temperature in the room drop. He couldn’t explain it, but Allura was exuding some kind of aura that took the very air out of the room.

She had a power none of them did, and he had no idea what it was.

“Now let’s go over the plan again,” she said. And they did.


	68. cars and conversation

Hunk tried not to stare at Keith. He was so intimidating, but he was kind of like a vicious car crash on the side of the road. You had to stare; it was unspoken protocol.

“So it doesn’t bother you that Lance is your brother?” he asked abruptly. Keith flicked his eyes to him and Hunk began to panic, which of course meant he started to run his mouth. I mean, if you’re going to die, might as well get an answer before you go. “Do you even like him?”

Keith rolled his eyes and stared back at the road. His arms were crossed over his torso while Hunk drove.

“It doesn’t matter, since he’s my step-brother,” Keith shrugged. Hunk’s eyebrows went way up. He hadn’t actually expected Keith to answer. “And I enjoy the control.”

“Control? That’s what sex is to you?” he asked, truly intrigued. Not everyone got a direct answer from Keith Galra that didn’t involve a knife to the gut--Lance included. “You know Lance--”

“That’s what makes him so easy to control.”

Hunk swallowed. His throat felt dry.

“But you do care about him.” Hunk knew he was speaking a truth. No way Keith could spend that much time with someone he didn’t like. He noticed Keith staring at him out of the corner of his eye. Hunk felt brave enough to meet his eye. “You do like him.”

Keith stared a moment longer before scoffing. “I don’t hate him.”

Hunk grinned. “Oooh Keith’s in love,” he joked. He could feel Keith’s aura warm up a bit. “Careful Keith,” he crooned. “Don’t go fallin’ ‘cause I’m not picking you up.”

“The only thing you pick up are bad habits.”

Hunk’s mouth fell open a bit. “Wait, was that a joke?” he asked. Keith rolled his eyes again and folded his arms behind his head. “Like, a pun? Dude, that’s funny. I mean, it’s cheesy, but it’s funny.”

“Just drive,” Keith said, yawning and closing his eyes, facing the window.

Hunk chuckled, then froze.

“Wait,” he asked, uncertain. “What bad habits have I picked up?”

Keith groaned and covered his hands over his face.   


“What? Is it that bad?”  
  



	69. Stations

Tio Dick put the pump into the gas tank. “Don’t call me that,” he always told Lance, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “We live in America now, I’m your fucking ‘uncle,’ not your tio.”

He was glad to be in America, Tio Dick. He even called himself Dick, since “that’s an American name, you can just change your name and become anything here.” Lance still called him Tio. Tio Dick beat him for it, sometimes.

Tio Dick shoved some money into Lance’s hand. Lance barely looked at the crumpled bill, just hummed to himself and walked into the small mart to get his tio some cigarettes and himself one of those little packets of mini powdered sugar donuts.

He walked into the food section, but they only had the chocolate kind. Lance reached his arm back, pulling out donut packets one by one, just to be sure.

He gave a short cheer when he found one packet of powdered sugar ones left. He skipped to the counter and put the donuts on top, along with the money given by Tio Dick.

“Menthols  _ por favor _ too please,” Lance said, mixing his Spanish and English to the clerk, who gave him a small smile.

“Now are you old enough to be buying cigarettes, little man?” she asked. It was an old white lady. Lance liked white ladies, they usually like him, too.

He giggled. “ _ No ‘uela _ !  _ Pero Tio _ Dick, uncle  _ quiere _ , him!” Lance pointed out to the gas station pump, but then became confused.

No one was there.

Lance ran toward the door, pressing himself against the glass, seeing if Tio Dick had parked around the store. He still couldn’t see, so he ran out the door, forgetting about the donuts.

He ran around the store twice, and nearly ran out into the road before the old white lady called him back.

She took him by the hand and led him inside. She sat him down by the counter and handed him the donuts and all of the money back. Lance opened the pack of donuts and ate the first three quickly while she called someone on the phone. His mouth was covered in sugar, and the woman’s hands shook, wringing in front of her.

“Someone’s going to come pick you up now,” she said softly, like he was made of pillows. He popped another donuts in his mouth, humming to himself. He did that when he ate.

“Tio?” he asked, mouth full. She shook her head.

A half hour later, long after Lance had finished the donuts, but crumbs still clung to his mouth, a police car pulled up into the lot.

They spoke in gentle voices, like the old lady did. They took him to the police station and he got to ride in the front of the car.

Funny enough, he kind of thinks it made the whole thing worth it anyway. Riding in the front of that car felt like what flying must have. They even turned on the siren for him, and he whooped along as they rode to the station.

Child services picked him up after a few hours, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Fuck Tio Dick, anyway.


	70. Like father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence

“You stupid child,” Haggar spat. Her gnarled teeth disgusted Keith. They were bared while her upper lip curled back in a sneer. Keith glared in return and wiped the blood off his face.

He’d only killed two, but he could make it a happy threesome if she really wanted him to.

“Enough,” said a deep voice behind him. It sounded like miasma churning under a fault line, but Keith wasn’t afraid. Being afraid would defeat the purpose.

“He’s killed our cooks,” said Haggar, only barely able to contain her shrieking. “All for that  _ extra _ we brought in.”

A pause sounded and Keith almost wanted to turn around. But watching Zarkon think was like watching a lion stare at you while it ate its dinner. An imminent threat.

“Really.”

Keith looked down at the bodies below him. He’d almost surprised himself at how easy it was to kill them. It wasn’t like they were trained professional killers, they were only chemists, but they were full grown men and Keith was only 16, barely coming into his growing body. He was pleased, though. He’d gotten the job done.

Now they could go back to giving Lance just the crack, and leave the heroine out of it. No more “quality experiments.” What a load of horseshit anyway.

“I think they’re sleeping together,” said Haggar and she finally did spit on the floor. It landed near the first chemist’s face. Keith rolled his eyes. None of it was her fucking business. “This child is cursed, Zarkon, you should kill him and the other. Let Shiro take over the empire, as we’d planned.”

Zarkon snapped his fingers and Keith felt the rush of several men surround him. He braced himself but nothing came. Instead the men ran around him, picking up the bodies of the scientists. Keith watched their dead eyes trail away as the men dragged them by the legs. Their glassy eyes seemed to follow him.

Zarkon hummed behind him. He was thinking about it: killing his own son.

At last he sighed. Keith clenched his hands into fists. Blood fell from his right hand. He’d forgotten he’d been holding the knife’s edge, and now his own blood fell to the floor, dropping silently.

“Shiro will do better if Keith lives,” Zarkon decided. Haggar made to protest but stopped herself, mouth gaping. Silenced by Zarkon. “If one dies, so does the other. I can’t have  _ no _ son to give my empire to.”

“Why don’t you just destroy it?” Keith asked. Blood continued to fall from his fist. “Destroy everything? Us, the Family, the empire. If you can’t have it, why should anyone?”

He could feel Zarkon breathing down his neck. Deep pull in, rough exhale out.

Then he laughed.

“Someday, son,” Zarkon said, voice carrying away as he walked away from Keith, from Haggar, from the blood on the floor. “You might make me proud.”

Keith’s hand took three weeks to heal. He kept splitting it open.


	71. A wrong turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence

Allura’s eyes were so wide it hurt. The light was suddenly too bright, the colors that surrounded her whirred passed like cars on a track. She felt like a piece of roadkill staring down the truck whose wheel aimed at her defenseless body.

But she wasn’t defenseless. She was just lost.

“Put down the gun,” she said.

Allura couldn’t breathe. Tears streamed down her face, hot liquid trailed down to her neck, pooling between her small breasts. It itched. Her face itched too, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

“You don’t want to do this.”

No, this couldn’t happen. This wasn’t the plan. It was supposed to her, and her father, and Nidhi. Together. It was their family. It couldn’t be ripped apart like this. They had to remain together, or everything would be lost.

“Why did you do it then?”

It sounded brittle, like placing a glass tumbler on a glass table. It creaked for a moment, and skittered across the like make. One was built to be stronger, the tumbler, but one was in the right place, one had support, and it prevented the other from falling.

“It was the right thing to do.”

Right? What a funny word. Allura laughed, a giggle bubbled and popped in her throat. Her nose began to run and she ignored it, like the itching. She let it run over her lip, and she laughed again.

Right was a direction. It was a direction, not a concept of justice and morality. Right was what you did to get to the bank, to find the closest bathroom to take a  _ piss _ in. It wasn’t something one did to make the world a fairer place.

The world was cruel, and the reality of it settled on Allura’s shoulders.

“Put down the gun,” she said again. But she didn’t. It had been shaking in small brown hands, hands that had never held a gun before, not at a human target.

And now she turned it toward Nidhi.

“You were right,” Allura said, licking her upper lip and tasting the salt. “My father was wrong.”

She smiled, and she hated the words that came out of her next. But oh, even in the worst of times, humans always had humor to turn to.

“Now I’m all that’s left.”

Allura pulled the trigger.


	72. End V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: sad!hunk, hurt!pidge

Hunk tripped.

He turned at the last minute, shielding Pidge’s body from the rough cement. He ended up pulling something in his side and he could feel the spot where he knew small scrapes would lead to a polka dotted blood patch.

He gripped Pidge tighter in his arms and got to his knees. He sniffled, tears and mucus dripping down his face, and got to his feet.

He kept running.

When he finally made it to the hospital, it was almost anticlimactic when the emergency room hospital door automatically slid open. Hunk nearly choked on his own breath in relief, running to the counter and only stopping when it prevented him from vaulting over.

“P-please!” he gasped desperately. “Pidge needs help, they gave them too much this time, it’s over, everyone’s dead--call the police--at the sheds by the pier--everyone is dying there you have to get them out--”

The nurse spoke to him but it was like she was speaking another language.

“I need an officer,” he said, and his heart was pounding in his chest. Was he having a heart attack? He could be. “I need Pidge to be safe, it’s what Shiro told me to do, we’re safe here--we have to be--I don’t know where else to go--”

They called the police and took Pidge on a gurney into the back. They wouldn’t let Hunk go with them, because he wasn’t legally family.

He sat outside in the waiting room, soaked with blood and tears. He held a lukewarm paper cup of tea between his palms, and when it slipped between his fingers, he felt the rest of his body give out.

He buried his face in his hands and cried.

He cried for Pidge, for Shiro, for Lance and Keith, and for the woman who’d ended the Galra reign.

And while he cried for his friends, he could feel it, in the depths of his heart, he was mostly crying for himself.


	73. The fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: death

He remembered the fire, or at least he thinks he did. Sometimes you think about something enough that it becomes a fixture in your brain, and it grows but it always stays the same. The same details, the same scene.

He was three. He didn’t remember being three, but no one remembers what age they were for memories below ten, not really. Anyway, he remembers the black clouds coming out of the house, after his mother threw him out the window.

He’d rolled, miraculously missing the cement that surrounded their home, and tumbled down the grassy hill. He was small enough that his weight hadn’t dragged him down and crushed his body into the pavement, as it’d done to his older cousins and siblings.

The entire family had been there. Everyone died. They’d gathered to honor Saint Guadalupe. Lance remembered because that was part of the memory too. He could still see the Virgin; eyes downcast; hands lightly together in prayer; surrounded by pinks and teals and gold. Of course she was gold, she was the Virgin.

Lance tumbled down the hill and looked up. Flames were everywhere, it was all he could see. Their entire apartment building was gone, and instead Lance looked up and saw hell.

Everything became blurry after that, whether from smoke or from tears, but he remembered the sound of one scream, piercing the night sky.

Lance didn’t remember anyone coming. He just remembers the smoke, and the Virgin, and the scream, and the fall.

Later, he found out it’d taken over an hour for the fire department to arrive. And they didn’t have enough water to put it out.

Not that it’d mattered, since everyone was dead anyway. Except for him.


	74. trustworthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: knife play during sex? idk it's not that bad i promise. no blood.

Lance hung over him and a bead of sweat dropped onto Keith’s cheek. Keith felt a small smile tug at his lips. It’d been more than ten minutes and Lance was still holding out.

Keith adjusted his shoulders, making himself more comfortable on the bed, but he didn’t move the knife he held, jutting out from the mattress. One wrong move and Lance would end up with a pierced belly.

They played a lot of games like this.

“You trust her?” Lance asked, panting, voice straining.

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. “I can’t put my finger on it.” He twirled the knife but never turned it away from Lance. 

Lance’s palms squeaked against the bedframe, and Keith could see his left foot almost slip before Lance overcorrected himself and flung his leg back. His toes caught on the rung and Keith grinned and Lance chuckled. That’d been close.

“But?” Lance prompted. More sweat dripped from his face onto Keith. Keith ran his fingers over Lance’s forehead and licked the sweat from them.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

Lance opened his eyes and looked at Keith. His hand slipped.

He fell and twisted at the last moment, his hip slamming into Keith’s stomach, causing Keith to crumple a bit before elbowing Lance away from him. Lance laughed and fell off the bed, hooting in relief and adrenaline.

Keith’s knife still held fast in his palm, glinting in the light from the terrace lanterns.

Lance picked himself off the floor and leaned one elbow against the mattress, sitting on the floor. He cupped his chin in his hand and raised an eyebrow.

“Why, because Shiro does?” he taunted. Lance was under the impression Keith would follow anything Shiro said or had him do. It was true, but Keith resented it on principle.

“No,” he said, tossing the knife to the floor. “I just know she wants Zarkon dead more than she wants us dead.”

“How?” Lance asked as he crawled over Keith again, settling his knees on either side of Keith’s hips. Keith palmed Lance’s growing erection and Lance moaned.

“Call it gut instinct,” he said around Lance’s lips.

As Lance began to remove their clothes, Keith caught a glimpse of his knife on the ground. It could’ve been a trick of the light, but from where he laid, it looked like there was a small chip on the blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right guys, next couple chapters are a total mystery to us all. >.< I only have like, 8 chapters out of the last 25 written, but all of the major plot points have been written out (aka, the End is nigh).
> 
> You guys are stellar. Have a fab weekend. <3


	75. Splat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence, mentions of blood

Hunk didn’t know  _ how _ he’d ended up with a bat full of nails sticking out the end and clubbing a man to death with it on the mansion’s porch, but that’s what he was doing.

Correction: that’s what he  _ did _ ,  _ now _ he was throwing up.

Lance came up from behind him and shot a few rounds into the guy’s skull, just to give the coroner some hell. The silencer did its job of course, and no one could hear over the cacophony of the city anyway, but Hunk didn’t know how they were going to manage to get the blood stains off the cement.

“Ugh, Hunk, buddy,” Lance wrinkled his nose and pinched it between the two fingers not occupied by the .44. “You couldn’t have aimed for the bushes?”

Keith grabbed the dead man’s feet and began pulling it toward the garage, when Shiro quickly came to his aid. They silently walked passed Hunk, who gave a few more dry heaves before collapsing to his knees and taking deep breaths through his nose.

Keith walked by him and he could feel the judgment coming off in waves.

“It’s fine Hunk, don’t worry about it,” said Shiro as he passed, but it only made Hunk blush worse. If Shiro had to say something Keith must be really annoyed.

Hunk could hear Pidge running around inside, still high off the cocaine and banging the oven door open and shut, open and shut. It’s what she did whenever anything violent was going on.

Lance shifted from one foot to the next beside him, uncomfortable, but laughing. Or rather, he was laughing  _ because _ he was uncomfortable.

“Man you should’ve seen yourself,” he giggled, wiping his mouth. “Went ape-shit all over that dude, he never stood a chance. Like King Kong against Toad.”

“Donkey Kong,” Hunk corrected, spitting out the last bit of vomit from between his teeth.

“Whatever,” Lance hummed, nudging Hunk’s side with his foot. “It was amazing. I wish I could watch it all over again.”

Hunk looked down and saw the blood continuing to shift on the pavement. It moved like a puddle of water would, running down the slope of the cement, finally pooling around his boot. It fanned across the toe portion, and Hunk became sick all over again.

The regret never really left him.


	76. Steam

Lance peeled off his shirt in the steamed up shower room. He’d left the hot water on unattended for more than 40 minutes. Not intentionally, but he’d just forgotten he’d left it on. He went to take a shower, but then he’d been distracted by, well,  _ something _ , and now he remembered again.

So he took off his clothes, dropping his pants and lifting one leg out at a time. His right toe caught onto the ankle portion of his pants and he fell a bit, jumping a few steps and ramming into the shower door. It made a few gong-like tones, each getting lighter after the other, and Lance giggled at his mistake.

He opened the shower door and paused before entering.

He turned and saw Keith behind him, one leg crossed over the other and arms folded across his chest. He looked like he was watching two children fighting, if one took his frown at first glance. But Lance simpered and turned his torso a bit, flexing his stomach. His muscles rippled and he dipped his head back, biting his lip.

“Care to join?” he asked. Keith made no move, which was a move unto itself.

Lance frowned, disappointed in Keith’s lack of response, and shrugged. “Fine, suit yourself.”

Lance stepped inside the shower and made to close the door. A few small clicking noises stopped him.

He peeked back and Keith was shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “Leave open the door.”

A small grin crawled over Lance’s face and he pulled the door back, giving Keith the ability to watch him shower. He started with his hair, and he took a longer time than he normally did, making sure to put on a show as he moaned and groaned while rubbing in the shampoo.

He bit his lip as he squeezed the bottle of body wash into his palm and gave himself a precursory rubdown with it before grabbing his loofah and exfoliating his skin. He scraped himself hard, because he knew how much Keith liked to touch his soft skin. When he was pink and pretty from his own attentions, he stepped closer to the shower spout so Keith could see him.

He grabbed his cock in his hand and started pumping.

As he closed his eyes and leaned one hand against the shower tiles to balance himself, he imagined Keith below him, using his own hands to please Lance. Lance often imagined Keith in positions he’d never be in. Subserving ones, attentive ones; those got him off especially. But it was only in his mind, and it was how Lance wanted to keep it.

If Keith were ever subservient or attentive, Lance was sure he’d be bored to actual tears of his stepbrother.

Lance could feel his climax rising and so he pumped up the volume too, curling his toes and panting loudly. The sounds ricocheted off the tiles and he knew everyone in the house could probably hear him, and it only turned him on more.

He was about to come when a cold hand slapped his hand away and then squeezed his cock so hard Lance stopped breathing. He opened his eyes wide and Keith stood before him, reaching out his hand and giving Lance’s cock an even harder squeeze.

“Come,” he said and Lance shouted and came all over the tiles. He dropped to his knees, hard, and leaned his head against the wet wall. Keith let him go and wiped his wet and sticky hand over Lance’s towel.

“You never come until I tell you to,” he said, and left the bathroom.

Lance sat under the water until it went cold.


	77. Spitfire

The worst part about Keith Galra was that he was the only one to see her for who she was.

It was freeing, but also terrifying. It also made her incredibly furious that someone could see past her facade, the one she’d built up from stones and had taken years to carve details into. It was like the nose falling off the sphynx. Forever lost.

She could tell in the way he looked at her. Not worshipfully, like Shiro, or with a nagging curiosity like Lance. Pidge looked at her with envy and Hunk feared her. But Keith knew her.

In a way that was entirely not physical, he was the spitting image of his father.

“When all of this is over,” she said, “I’m going to kill you.”

Keith hummed and didn’t stop staring at her with the same bored expression he gave everyone. “You think you can kill me,” he said, no inflection painting his voice.

Allura smiled. “I know it. By the time everything is over, Zarkon’s reign will be finished.” She ran her eyes over him and a sneer from the pit of her stomach graced her lips. It wasn’t the Allura she projected, but the true Allura who wanted to scowl and berate. “You’re part of that reign.”

“So is Shiro,” he said. Allura shrugged.

“You’re all disposable.”

Keith smiled. His white teeth flashed and Allura even heard a small laugh from him. “Of course. Everyone is. That doesn’t mean we don’t survive.”

He walked toward the door, putting his hands in his pockets. Allura glared into the back of his skull, but it was like trying to melt snow with ice.

“And we’ve survived worse than you, Allura Altea.”

When he left the room Allura screamed out a shout and hurled the nearest thing from her, a ceramic bowl. It went flying into the stainless steel fridge and cracked against it before it shattered against the floor.

She wanted to run over and kick the remnants until her foot bled, but she inhaled several breaths and calmed herself down. She needed to hold her anger, and release it like a dam over them all.

They may have survived thus far, she told herself, but one crack in the wall would see their dam crumble.


	78. Elements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter because I wanted to imagine Allura in a bikini. I got no regrets.   
> Also this chapter is innocent and I want to hold it.

“Knock it off, Lance,” Shiro said through grit teeth as Lance kicked the soccer ball across the beach, once again causing sand to fly into his and Allura’s faces.

Shiro grabbed a water bottle and threw it at Lance’s head, nailing him right in the temple. Lance hardly noticed though. He only wiped the sweat from his brow, whooping and hollering as he kicked the ball back and forth between him and Hunk.

Hunk, who was probably the most athletic after Shiro himself, punched the ball with his foot and send it flying past the makeshift goal. Pidge groaned and fell to the ground in a heap of limbs and Keith fumed by the water’s edge.

Shiro cracked a smile while he put his arm over Allura’s brown shoulders. Her white bikini stood out against the contrast of her skin, and it gave Shiro a low burn of pride when guys and girls who crossed their path flicked their eyes to her to admire her beauty.

As she dozed in his arms Lance was back at it again with the antics. He leapt onto Keith, throwing him to the ground and crashing against the sand and waves. Keith spluttered and held Lance down into the water. But Lance only became more encouraged, floundering but taking Keith with him, playing like a child in jungle gym.

They’d gone a few hours south for a job, but the weather and beach turned it into a whole new world. Instantly Shiro had felt lighter as his feet crunched into the sand. The wind bit at his hair and the seagulls scratched against his eardrums with their calls, but he felt a sense of peace that the fog of the city seemed to stifle.

Allura lifted her sweaty cheek from his shoulder and lowered her sunglasses to watch Lance and Keith, clicking her tongue in admonition. 

Shiro turned his own attention to Pidge and Hunk, who had begun making a sandcastle. It didn’t take long for Lance to notice as well, and he gesticulated wildly from afar before running to them and diving into the ground. He burrowed into the sand and Hunk laughed and began to cover him in it.

Pidge joined in, and Keith supervised from above as Hunk and Pidge turned Lance into a human sea star. Lance laughed and wiggled, causing the sand to buckle under the movement, and Pidge smacked at him for his behavior. Her scarf blew in the wind behind her and she barely caught it as it tried to sail away. Hunk continued to smile and pile on the sand.

It took a moment for Shiro to see Keith was staring at him, with an unusual face.

His brother, usually scowling or otherwise exuding negative emotions, seemed to glow in the sun. It’s like his whole body was alight with sunshine, and Shiro kissed Allura’s forehead and leaned back against his palms.

It was the best day he could remember.


	79. Social ingrace

Lance covered his fries in way too much ketchup, dipped them into mayonnaise, and then funneled them into his mouth. Pidge cringed as he heard Lance’s lips smacking as he chewed and shuddered as he audibly heard him swallow.

Lance grinned and started the process anew.

“You know you eat like an animal, yes?” they asked. They could feel their nose crinkling in disgust and Lance only shrugged.

His hair was slicked back and he looked like an entirely different person in his open dress shirt and dark gray vest. He wore black metal guards to hold back the sleeves of his shirt. He had discarded his jacket when they’d entered the joint, and the $6,000 piece lay beside him in a wrinkled heap Shiro would roll his eyes at.

He looked incredible handsome, if not for the fact he was sticking his hands balls-deep into greasy french fries and  _ mayonnaise _ . Heathen.

“Does it matter if I’m enjoying myself?” Lance asked.

“Um,” Pidge started intelligently, knowing there was so much loaded into the question it’d be best if she kept it neutral. “Yes. It does. Because we are humans. And humans have social graces?”

Pidge fiddled with his own bowtie. The thing kept choking him, he had envied the women their dresses at the party. While the necklines had been plunging to the point of indecency, at least they could breathe.

“Right,” Lance said, dipping his finger into the ketchup-mayonnaise hybrid sauce and then putting it in his mouth to lick it off. “Like not killing people or stealing their property?”

Pidge frowned, rolled their eyes. “Point taken.” Lance began licking all of his fingers before putting them back into the french fry pile. She shook her head. “Animal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ketchup and mayonnaise is delicious y'all're missing out


	80. End II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence, hurt!pidge
> 
> we are winding down here folks

“We’re ending this tonight,” Shiro said. “But I don’t know how far it’s going to go.”

His voice sounded like it was underwater. Pidge felt nauseous. They’d interrupted right when the cooks administered the heroine and now Pidge was caught between a sleepy high and incredible illness.

Pidge could feel large hands grabbing her from Shiro. They were warm, strong, but soft like dough. Hunk. She sighed. Whatever happened, she’d go down with Hunk at her side, and she was okay with that.

A few popping sounds caught Pidge’s attention and he tried to open his eyes and see what was going on. He could hear Lance shouting and laughing, and that meant Keith was there too, but there was a woman screaming, shouting orders--

“Get Pidge and yourself out of here, to safety. That’s an order!” Shiro shouted above the mayhem, and Pidge could hear now, they were coming out of the high. They opened their eyes, and--

There was a moment of silence before a giant plume of smoke went up into the air. A resounding  _ boom _ sounded and Pidge’s eyes were wide open, their ears were ringing from the reverberations of the bomb.

Pidge wondered if this was what the end of the world looked like.

Pidge watched as Keith and Lance cut open every Galra member between them. They were making a bloody river they needed to cross to reach each other, but Shiro was before them, the dam stopping the Galra Family from fighting his two brothers. Shiro pulled out a bloody hand from Haggar’s dead and limp body.

And the woman with hair the color of stars pounded round after round into the pierced body of Zarkon.

Pidge couldn’t see Zarkon’s eyes, but he could see his hand, twitching after every bullet made its way into his brain. Pidge’s body felt like one of those bullet shells.

Empty. Without purpose.

But then Hunk was crying, running, taking Pidge away from it all. 

Pidge closed their eyes, and tried to find sleep again. If it was to be like this, then she wanted one last dream before she went, too.


	81. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: active violence, sociopathy

“Lady,” Keith said patiently while the woman below him screamed in agony. “I’ll stop breaking your fingers when you give me the key.”

Her face was a concerning color red at the moment and she opened her mouth to say something when Keith broke another of her fingers. Ah, he’d only meant to dislocate.

“Hey don’t forget to ask her about the recipe, we need that, too,” Lance said, pacing the floor and using his gun to open the curtains every now and then, making sure no cops were on their way.

Keith sighed. Lance was so fucking high right now he’d forgotten they’d nabbed this woman and taken her out to an abandoned cottage several hours from where any real cops were. Should never have done that line of blow in the car on their way up.

“Th-there’s no key,” said the woman. Her voice was raspy and she spat up some blood while she spoke, having screamed her throat raw. It dribbled down her chin and Keith watched, not the least bit sympathetic. 

This is what happened when you stole money from the mob.

Lance giggled from the far end of the cottage. Damn he moved fast when he was high, Keith thought idly as he snapped another of the woman’s finger joints. Not enough to break, but it did have a nice sound as it rang through the room.

“It--” she gasped, more tears spilled down her face. “It’s a code.”

Keith hummed. “Tell me,” he brought his face close to hers, close enough to smell the stink of fear, sweat and mucus. Objectively, none of it was pretty, but these images never bothered Keith.

He was used to so much worse.

She rattled off some numbers and Keith called Shiro up, relaying him the code. Keith was surprised when it worked on the first try. All he’d done was shatter both her kneecaps, remove the nails from her fingers and then only break about three of them before she folded.

Lance shot her in the back of her head, so she never even saw it coming. Lance dipped his fingers in the blood and had been about to draw pictograms on the wall before Keith stopped him. Honestly, bringing Lance along to a kill job was like bringing a toddler to a candy store. He just had to  _ touch  _ everything.

They fitted her with metal boots and threw her off the cliff. For a moment, Keith faltered. He wondered why she’d taken the money in the first place.

Why struggle against an all-powerful enemy? One she could never outrun? One she could never hide from?

Keith watched her body splash in the water before it sank between the rocks into the deep. He saw her face one last time, eyes open, mouth parted, as though she could still see Keith, a ghost she’d greatly feared.

A whitecap crashed over, knocking into a tall rock and Lance whooped, hands in the air like a child on a roller coaster.

Keith looked back into the water, and it was like she’d never been there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for all of you who are reading and commenting (you know who you are my special friends). The next few chapters will be a mystery, so any suggestions or wishes or whatevers are welcomed.


	82. Choosing demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE WARNING: GROSS GROSS MENTIONS OF PEDOPHILIA. Nothing explicit, BUT UGH.

Haggar began touching him after his mom died.

Subtle touches. A hand on his low back. Fingers wrapped around the muscle connecting his shoulder to his neck. A palm just above his knee.

As time went on she became bolder by his silence and the blindness of everyone else. She began to look, too. He could feel her eyes on his back as he moved around her, going as low as his hips and then lower, grappling his legs with her insufferable smolder.

A year after his mother’s death, she touched his waist. She pulled him into her lap and cooed at him, telling others he needed a mother figure to guide him, care for him.

But she didn’t  _ care _ for him. She  _ wanted  _ him.

Every time she came near Shiro could feel a sensation like bugs crawling up his spine and burrowing into his ears, causing his head to spin. It’d been so long and his mouth was sealed shut. He couldn’t tell anyone.

It was humiliating. She could’ve been the most beautiful creature in the world and it’d still feel like an invasion when she smiled at him, looking through him and clutching his will between her fingers and squeezing until there was no life left.

Shiro couldn’t remember the day she got him alone. He was 14. Just before Keith arrived.

He didn’t want to remember it. But even if he did, it was like pushing against a mountain, or trying to find light in an underground cave. Fruitless, and fearful.

Allura cupped the back of his head and kissed him roughly. He sighed. He buried his face in her breasts and breathed, feeling himself come alive as she ground into his lap, hard enough to be painful.

Haggar had been tender to him, sweet even, from an outsider’s view. She always touched him softly as though he’d break, and she was waiting for the right moment to do it.

Allura hurt him, felt no pity for him, took him for all he had. And he gave it to her.

Because she had given him a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you know why Shiro hates Haggar. Excuse me while I barf forever.


	83. Sharing is caring, part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my babes <3

“Okay so you guys know I’m Hawaiian, right?” Hunk asked, using the toothbrush to gesture to himself. “And like the whole ohana--”

“Means family, family means--” Lance grinned, mood swinging to giddiness like a pendulum.

Pidge interrupted from behind while Keith’s frown grew, clearly still not amused at having unexpected company in his space. 

“No one gets left behind,” they said blandly, and Lance held up a finger, closing his eyes and they recited together, “Or forgotten.”

“Yeah, right sure,” Hunk said dismissively, putting the toothbrush back in his mouth and scraping his gums. “But it also means there’s like, no barriers. It means like, su casa es mi casa and also su room es mi room and su toothpaste es mi--”

“If you’re going where I think you’re going,” Lance said warningly, “that better not be my toothbrush.”

Hunk paused and the whole room stilled for a moment, before Hunk finally lifted his shoulders in a “what’re you gonna do?” lazy gesture and the whole room groaned.

“Oh Hunk, that’s disgusting,” Pidge said, grimacing and flopping onto Keith and Lance’s bed.

“Seriously you’re  _ depraved _ ,” said Lance, rubbing his hands over his face, groaning dramatically.

“Okay but you regularly share gum with Keith,” Hunk pointed out, reaching the toothbrush back to his molars.

“Yeah but one: he’s my brother, and two: it’s like totally different.”

“Okay, one: you’re stepbrothers so not technically related, and two: ew, and three: ewwwwww,” Hunk said, swallowing the toothpaste in his mouth.

“I second what Hunk said,” Pidge said, perking her head up from where it’d been face down on the bed.

“That’s great Hunk,” Keith said dryly. “Except for one thing.”

Hunk raised his eyebrows and began to brush his tongue with the toothbrush. 

“That’s my toothbrush.”

Without another word, Keith stood from the bed and took the toothbrush back from Hunk. He layered it in toothpaste and stuck it in his own mouth. Keith leaned against the bathroom counter and began brushing his own teeth.

The room was dead quiet as Keith went about his morning routine. Three pairs of eyes watched as he dressed himself in his usual black ensemble, and finished the look off with his gloves.

“See you downstairs,” he said.

No one was ever the same.


	84. Chef's laments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to do with this chapter, and i'm really sorry about this, but please double check the major archive warnings.
> 
> Um. My bad.

“Can you pass me the turmeric?” Hunk asked, and Allura obliged.

She was about to open her mouth and tut-tut as his foreign hands reached into the small jar, but she closed it when he took out the perfect pinch and flicked it into the pan, stirring quickly to prevent the sauce from coagulating.

Hunk took the wooden spoon and raised it to his nose, giving it a whiff. He then took a small silver spoon and took a bit of it from the pan. He blew on it lightly and then tasted it, smacking his lips and eyes drifting to the ceiling in thought. He nodded, satisfied with the taste.

Allura folded her arms and assessed him dryly.

“You can cook punjabi food?”

“I can cook any food,” he corrected. Hunk was not a boastful boy, so when he said anything with confidence, people tended to listen. Allura was no exception.

“My mother made very good chana masala,” she said. Hunk didn’t look at her, instead continuing his occupation of stirring the pot. “It wasn’t my favorite dish, but I can appreciate her skill now.”

Hunk hummed. “Isn’t that always the way.” He smiled at her before returning his attention to the meal. “I didn’t grow up with what you’d call ‘seasoned’ food,” he commented and added a little water to the mixture. “Polynesian food is mostly fried and bland. Coming to the city, I was able to find so many different stores packed with new kinds of spices and things I’d never seen before. I started exploring and I guess I found my way.”

Allura could smell the meal now and she felt her mouth water. It smelled incredible.

“You have a gift,” Allura said, sincerely. “One you can take with you anywhere.”

“It certainly has helped me make a few friends,” he said, earning him a laugh from Allura.

A commotion went on in the next room and the two looked to the door to see Lance in his underwear holding his .44 caliber. His face was white with cocaine powder, like someone had thrown it in his face. It gave him a wide-eyed and confused Casper-ish look.

“Um, have you seen my bush?” he asked, scratching his stomach with the glock. Allura blushed in displaced embarrassment.

“Over here buddy,” Hunk said, gesturing to the salad on the table. “Put some on the plate using a fork this time, I don’t want your drugs in my meal,” he frowned, “like last time.”

“It tastes more magical with blow,” Lance said, dutifully grabbing a fork and spearing a few leaves and shoving them into his mouth. He left, calling for Keith. Allura heard Pidge giggling in the background and Lance shouted before it sounded like someone effectively shut him up the hard way.

Hunked sighed and tilted his head.

“I seriously hate it when he gets cocaine in the food,” Hunk said. “It makes it taste like splenda.”

Allura’s lip quivered in a smile. She watched Hunk finish the meal. She only wished they had some khambir to complement the dish.


	85. End 2.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to avoid spoilers, warnings at the end of chapter notes

When Shiro plunged his pointed hand through Haggar’s body, he felt a giddiness that nearly overwhelm him.

He could feel her heartbeat frantically pumping around his wrist, desperately trying to reach the surrounding organs to keep her alive. But Shiro had taken that life, grabbed it between his fingers and crushed it, and it felt like a victory.

He could hear her gagging in his ear and he couldn’t bear the sound, it disgusted him. He pulled his hand, wrenching it out of her. Pools of blood came out of her body after he removed his hand.

She fell hard on her knees, barely missing Shiro’s toes. He took a step back and watched her die. Her eyes were open wide, jaundiced orbs staring at the opposing wall and Shiro laughed.

That was it? Here she was dying and all she could do was look at a wall. No control. No honor. She died for no reason at all. What was her purpose? Aiding Zarkon? Kidnapping small children? Beating them into submission? Breaking them down until there was nothing left but a husk of what once was?

What kind of life was that?

A monster could only beget a monster.

A thought came to Shiro’s mind he didn’t like. He wondered who her monster had been.

Shiro watched her sink into the ground and moved his attention to watch Allura empty her weapon into the soulless, unmoving body of his father.

If he felt victory, it was shortly lived. A bang that didn’t come from Allura’s gun sounded behind him, and suddenly he was looking at the ceiling.

The thing he hated most about it, as he felt blood slip away from him, was that he would die next to Haggar.

That bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: major death


	86. An evil named

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: descriptions of forced heroin use, trauma, hurt!pidge

Every time they inserted the needle, Pidge fought.

It wasn’t real. He knew this. Every time the sharp metal dug into his skin Pidge screamed and fought. It made it worse, the pain, the injection, the feeling of nausea was often overwhelming and he would vomit several times before he came out of the high.

Every batch was the same. Technically they were different, since that was what Pidge had been taken for, as a guinea pig for the product, but they left Pidge in the same hollow shell-like feeling she’d grown to expect and loathe.

They had them strapped down, had even given them a gag to muffle the screaming. And Pidge screamed, they really did, but the screams were forced this time.

Pidge felt a giddiness spread through him, because he knew it would be the last time. The fighting had paid off. Even if his fighting wasn’t a direct cause of the inevitable demise of the Galrans, it kept him awake all this time.

The false reality of the drugs hadn’t penetrated her mind. And now they never would.

Pidge screamed again, wild high pitches of sound curled around the gag and Pidge was glad for it, because they wouldn’t see their nervous smile. In a matter of hours it would be over. The reign of Zarkon and his cronies would be over.

Maybe...maybe Allura could help her find her family. Maybe they were out there. Maybe they’d been looking for her.

It’d been so long since she thought about them. Dad, Mom, Matt. Even Rover.

Pidge’s eyes became heavy. The heroin had been administered and she could hear her own vital signs beeping in the distance, what sounded like miles away was right beneath her skin. Everything was under water now, and motions and sounds were like waves gently caressing her ears, as though she’d fallen asleep next to the rising tide.

He wondered how his Dad was. Dad was the bookish one, the one he’d always needed to be coaxed away from his den to greet the outside world. He wondered if Matt had taken over that role, or if Matt was out on his own adventures.

It’d been, how long? Three years, four? Twenty?

Why hadn’t they...why hadn’t they escaped? Pidge felt their breath quake in their lungs. They’d been young, sure, but why hadn’t they run away? Surely they’d had the opportunity. Surely they’d had the smarts to figure out a way.

But as she drifted away, clawing her fingers into the sand while the water tried to drift her to sea, she realized it wasn’t about opportunity or ability that kept her from her family.

It was an evil he’d fought against from the beginning. It was something more powerful than he was, something thousands of years old, that no person could really triumph against.

It was the power of persuasion. And Pidge had fought tooth and nail just to stay even a little bit grounded.

But now she could relax. Now she could rely on someone else’s strength, because now she wasn’t alone.

She only wished it hadn’t taken her four years to realize it.


	87. Remnants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: forced drug use, trauma, depression, violence

Lance gave up fighting a long time ago.

Honestly, he’d given up the fight the day Tio Dick had left him at the gas station. No one  _ wanted _ Lance around, so he figured, why try?

Why bother to fight for a life as miserable as his own?

Sure he had “things” now. He had “brothers.” He actually enjoyed the crack--it was like experiencing life as it should be. No pain, no suffering, just joy and light and freedom, like falling upwards into the clouds.

But sober? Without the high? Lance was just another face on a milk carton. Probably not even that. He was like the hundreds of bodies that littered the desert beyond the Rio Grande. Just one of a thousand immigrants looking for a better life who died along the journey, only to have their skulls beaten down by sand and wind and scavengers.

His life was worthless.

So the high the heroin brought was good, during the time he got it. When they stuck the needle in him, he never knew what kind of dreams he would get.

He knew he had them while he was high, but he could never tell what they were when he woke up. He only knew when he woke up screaming and in a cold sweat, it was probably a bad batch they’d cooked up.

The good dreams though. Those made it worth it sometimes. Just sometimes.

But they left him feeling warm, like how he felt after eating a whole loaf of baked bread fresh out of the oven. Just like the empty carbs, it left him wanting more. It left him desperate, thoughtless. He’d do anything to get that high again.

He didn’t know why Keith hated it so much. He figured it was so much worse when he was on crack, he had so much more energy and he bothered Keith a lot more when he had the stimulant high. But looking into Keith’s eyes as he drooled into his pillow was like staring at a furnace while reaching a hand toward the flame.

When Keith killed the cooks, Lance, for the first time since he’d come to the mansion, became irate. He screamed and threw everything near him at Keith, he even threw himself, body slamming Keith into the wall and pummeling him with his fists, shouting and spitting.

Tears flew down his face, but the fight, as always, left him. It left him aching and cold on the ground, with only Keith’s fingers around his wrists keeping him afloat.

But eventually, when they stopped giving him the heroin, Lance couldn’t have cared less. Dreams weren’t so great after all, much less the remnants of them.

Dreams were like hope. They had no business in Lance’s life.


	88. End III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: death

It felt like two slabs of stone were slowly crushing him into nothingness.

A blow to his back, painless but jarring, had thrown him to the ground. Now an ache flooded his gut, and he couldn’t breath.

His lungs stumbled and trembled, but they had collapsed now and couldn’t get back up.

Shio couldn’t get back up.

“Father...we did it!” Shiro could hear the desperate retching cry of justice beyond him. Her voice cracked and he heard laughter. 

He stared into the rafters above him and the smoke and fire around him went unnoticed. It was like snow when one was already cold, it really meant nothing.

Instead he listened to Allura, crying and laughing. He could almost feel her jubilation, though he couldn’t see it. His vision was fading, and now he struggled to even see the ceiling crumple above him. He didn’t have long.

“Father, he’s dead. I’ve done...no--we’ve done it. We’ve--you taught me father, you taught me patience. Mother would be--I know she’d approve. He’s dead now, we can all rest.”

Shiro tried bringing his hand to his belly, but could hardly move at all now. The wound spilled and bubbled in his stomach, and he almost laughed when he thought of Old Faithful, still going strong, and would be strong, long after Shiro departed this world.

Just a few minutes now.

“In the void of his evil,” Allura continued, whispering. Shiro heard nothing but her voice, her rapid breath. It soothed him, knowing that despite everything, she’d gotten what she’d wanted, what she’d worked for. If there’s one thing Shiro had done right, it had been in granting her this wish.

“Chaos will reign. Anarchy will wash it clean,  _ him _ clean, and everything will be wiped out.”

Shiro smiled, and he could no longer smell the fire.

He could only smell Allura’s perfume, and though now his wound had blinded him of his sight, he could still see Allura, glowing like a star, igniting, spinning, faster and faster and faster--

And he saw her turn supernova, her voice ringing out while shots popped around him like fireworks, and Shiro dissolved in the explosion.


	89. Taijitu

Shiro gave Keith a small smile as he gripped his shoulder.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” he said. Keith grunted in protest and punched the bag again, just to show Shiro he didn’t need to stop or slow down. He could handle himself.

Shiro moved his hand from Keith’s shoulder to the bag, steadying it from swaying side to side. Keith was small for his age, and still young, but he had wiry muscles and could pound just about any living thing–or not–into submission.

“It’s good to push yourself,” Shiro said. “But if you push too hard, you’ll be the one to break.”

As if on cue, Keith’s shoulder began to throb warningly. His face was covered in sweat and it was hard to see past his bangs even. His thin frame trembled from the exertion, but he could feel the others watching him, and he didn’t want to look weak.

“If you move with purpose, the slightest move can unseat your enemy.”

Keith frowned and glared at Shiro.

Shiro continued to smile calmly and he released the bag. He dropped his arms to the side and leaned toward Keith, speaking in low tones so only he could hear.

“They want you to work too hard, they want you to work harder, not smarter,” Shiro whispered. Keith looked into his eyes and saw the honesty there. Every part of Shiro was telling Keith to trust him, and instinctively, Keith knew it was because Shiro had experienced it.

“When you’re at your weakest, they will strike.”

Every false move Shiro had made had been answered to, swiftly, crushingly, completely. Shiro’s eyes were too wise for being only 15.

Keith thought about their koi pond, and took a deep breath. He stood away from the bag.

Shiro sighed and his smile turned up, a genuine show of relief, before it was stowed away again under the face.

The face behind the face, behind the face. That was where Shiro cared about him.

“Good work,” Shiro said louder. “Not good enough, but you’ll get there. We can’t afford weaklings in the Family.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “You won’t be weak, will you?” Shiro’s eyes shimmered. Keith shook his head.

“I am never be weak,” he said firmly in his learning English. Shiro nodded and walked away.

Shiro would be his guide. Keith would be his pillar. They would support each other, and they would survive together.

And if one fell, well, the whole empire would burn down in a fire so bright, none of it could be rebuilt.


	90. Cavern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: violent sex

When Lance tried to kiss Keith, he shoved his fingers in his mouth. Lance gagged around the intrusion, and his head still smarted from where it’d hit the wall. Keith used his other hand to fumble with Lance’s jeans, and Lance batted it away so he could shove them down himself.

Keith pulled down on Lance’s bottom jaw, causing him to fall forward and wince at the pain. Keith let go and Lance was left to hang on the wall, panting for breath and shutting his eyes. He could still feel the light from the room piercing through his eyelids. Everything looked pink.

Lance could hear Keith’s return, and he listened closely as Keith slicked himself up with lotion from their bathroom. As always Keith was noiseless as he worked himself up, only slight pants and grunts found their way to Lance’s ears.

Keith flipped Lance over, turning him to face the wall, and Lance lowered himself down a little, bending his knees and sticking out his ass to accommodate for their height difference.

Keith entered him with no fanfare.

Lance sucked in breath between his teeth and tried to laugh off the pain, but he couldn’t fool himself today. It hurt. Everything hurt.

Keith grabbed him by his hips and fucked him, over and over. There was no elegance in the way he pounded Lance into the wall, creating a drum-like beat sounding throughout the room.

Keith leaned forward and nosed at Lance’s shoulder. He grazed his teeth over the muscle, and then bit down, hard.

Lance felt the sting and his eyes began to water. He pushed back against Keith and Keith only matched his strength. He held Lance to him for a moment and shoved at an awkward angle. Lance’s knees buckled before he could catch himself and Keith hoisted him back up.

Keith’s breath was in his hair and Lance felt the ache in his chest grow wider, emptier. Keith was all around him but his body was a cavity that could never be filled. He was an air balloon with a hole in the top, sliding down, down, down, down—

Keith came and Lance sagged against the wall when he pulled out. He wanted to fall to the ground, to rest, but his knees were locked and his own dick was still achingly hard.

Keith left the room and it was an eternity before he came back to find Lance still staring at the wall, face covered with spit and ass leaking Keith’s come.

Keith walked back behind him and grabbed both his upper arms. He pushed Lance onto the ground, and Keith wrapped his arms around Lance, holding him against his chest.

Lance stared up at the ceiling, eyes glazed over.

Neither of them moved for hours.


	91. End IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it guys. we're at the finish line.
> 
> It's been an honor serving with you guys.

Lance remembered the bike he’d had when he was eight.

It’d been given to him by his foster parents. They’d been too old, Lance realized now. And he’d been too unlucky. He’d found love, he’d found freedom to practice that love, and it’d been taken away in a night, when Hank died peacefully in his sleep, and Patricia followed a few days after with a broken heart.

The girl--he couldn’t remember her name. He wondered what happened to her. Maybe she’d gotten out of the system. Maybe she was all right.

A bullet ricocheted off a wall and grazed his leg. He wanted to scream but his voice was too hoarse from the smoke in the room. The pain ripped through and he could feel blood oozing from the wound, but he made no move to staunch the blood.

He lay on his back and moved his head to gaze at Keith.

Keith stared back at him with the most emotion he’d ever seen. His normally vacant and closed off expression was full of rage. Rage Lance remembered well, but there was something else that knitted his brows together, that clung to the edges of Keith’s eyes.  
  
Sadness. Defeat. Surrender.

Shiro was dead then.

Lance squeezed Keith’s hand, and Keith returned it, crushing his fingers in his sweaty palm.

Lance could hear the wind beating against the blinds in the window, and it reminded him of the card he’d placed in the wheel of his bike. The blue bike he’d ridden up and down the street, on the sidewalks. It felt like he was on top of the world when he drove that bike away, and when he drove back, it felt like--

Lance scooched his body a little closer to Keith’s, inching slowly until he was just a breath away.

“Hey, babe,” Lance whispered, then coughed, body quivering in distress. “Wanna get outta here?”

“What do you got in mind?” Keith said back, voice hoarse and void of anything. He sounded like a grim reaper might, and Lance had to grin at the comparison.

“You wanna know,” he asked, hoping the gleam in his eye would be enough to convince Keith, to keep Keith with him.

Always.

“You wanna know, what it’s like to fly?” he finished.

Keith said nothing, but his face became grimmer, and his eyes grew dark. He nodded, and Lance sighed in relief.

Soon, they’d be free. Then maybe Keith, too, would know what coming home felt like.


	92. A few reefs

His grandmother used to say, “Ka hohonu i hiki ‘ole ke ana ‘ia, aka, ua ‘ike ‘ia no kahi mau papa.”

Hunk never understood it.

Roughly translated it meant, “The depths haven’t been fathomed, but a few reefs have been seen.”

Hunk understood it now.

Everything Hunk confronted was beyond him. He was in a constant state of confusion, bafflement, in-over-his-head kind of deal. He was always one step short of a staircase to feel comfortable.

It made him anxious, and that anxiety in turn made him fumble the balls life threw at him. He felt like a bruised piece of fruit that always ended up being tossed in the trash instead of adorning a welcome plate for guests.

Hunk always saw his innocence as a flaw.

Now. Now Hunk thought differently.

Hunk took the long knife in hand and made shushing noises to the sheep in his arms, rubbing its stomach and calming it gently. With a steady and confident hand, he took the knife and sheared a confident blow to the left side of the sheep as it trembled in his arms, then cut a blow to the right.

Slowly, he began to etch his way to the center of the sheep, removing her of the outer coat on her belly. She turned docile in his arms as he moved her to and fro, and when he completed the work, he let her up. She baa-ed and Hunk laughed quietly and gave her a short wave as she sauntered out of sight, fresh and lighter than she’d been before.

Yeah, Hunk saw things differently now.

He heard Katie talking on the phone through the open kitchen window. Coran was out corralling the other sheep to remain in the pen as Hunk worked to shear them before the heat settled too deeply into their flesh.

When Hunk had felt so overwhelmed by everything he’d been thrown before, he’d never appreciated the generosity of life. Every action, every challenge had been a stress, when it was truly a blessing. It was an opportunity to learn, to grow, to be reborn.

No, Hunk could never imagine all that life had to offer. He could never comprehend all of the things he had yet to even discover. And sure, maybe it was still a little overwhelming that he had no idea what kinds of things life was still going to throw his way.

But he’d seen a few reefs.

He’d seen the good in people, in spite of the bad. He’d seen the terrible things people were capable of, that he was capable of, but he had seen joy and freedom and love–

He’d seen so much love.

Hunk grabbed the next sheep and cooed to it softly as he turned it over and placed its head gently between his knees.

A little love could move mountains, after all.


	93. Batter up

Lance had thought it’d be fun to try meth, but Keith put his foot down and punched Lance in the face for suggesting it. Pidge gave a small peep in surprise. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for Keith to punch Lance, but there was usually a bit more forewarning and provoking before Keith did anything about it.

Now Pidge was laid out on the ground, seeing colors that weren’t there after consuming mushrooms with Hunk. Hunk sat beside him, snoring gently with his head on Pidge’s shoulder.

Keith and Lance, meanwhile, were playing baseball in Prorok’s home. They were using Zarkon’s Faberge eggs and other small yet pricely items along with the bat Lance kept under his and Keith’s bed. 

“Four!” he shouted as the egg bounced off the tip of the bat, making a loud “ting”-like noise as it hit the aluminum.

“That’s for golf, you idiot,” Keith said. He threw another egg.

Lance scratched his nose, sniffing and adjusting his grip on the bat. “It’s to call attention to a wayward shot, dipshit,” he responded in kind.

Keith blew out air to move his bangs from his line of vision. “For. Golf.”

“Hey, throw the purple one would you? I’m going for a home run.”

“You’ll never make it,” Keith taunted.

“Watch me.” Lance pointed his hand out like he was pointing to the stands filled with onlookers. He predicted the egg’s projection straight and yonder, and imagined the crowd going wild.

Keith grabbed the egg, assumed his stance, and threw the gem-encrusted piece with all his strength, hurtling it directly at Lance’s head with practiced accuracy.

Lance didn’t disappoint. The egg whizzed right by his nose, embedding itself into the wall behind him as he swung wildly with the metal bat.

Keith laughed out loud.

“You asshole, you threw wide! Foul!”

“It’s your job to hit it anyway,” Keith said.

Lance shouted a wordless curse and threw the bat, swinging it across the room. It flew, spinning, and its trajectory crashed it through the window of the empty home they’d broken into. 

Glass flew everywhere and even landed on the peacefully sleeping forms of Pidge and Hunk, who barely stirred from the noise.

Lance and Keith buckled in laughter, then took another line of blow.


	94. End 3.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the chapter name has "End" in it you can bet there's violence and sadness

Keith’s heart sank.

It jarred him, the immediate sense of loss and physical ache he felt looking down at Shiro. Splatters of blood still freckled his face but his eyes were wide and dreamy, open, unseeing.

Dead.

Keith’s stomach roiled and he threw up on the floor. Lance sounded desperate behind him, he needed Keith’s help, there were still several Galra members trying to finish them. The confusion they’d fed off before had died away now, and the rest of the mob had decided they were going to take out the Galra Family.

It truly was glorious, in a dismembered kind of way. In the back of his mind he was almost in awe that Allura had done it. She’d actually taken the Galra apart and turned them on each other. Keith had never even dreamed of doing such a thing, never imagined it could be  _ possible _ .

And she’d done it in a year. She’d found Shiro, corrupted him, taken him from Keith, and she’d gotten them all to do her bidding so clearly, so easily.

And Keith had thought--he’d really thought he understood her. He thought he saw through her and her cheap attempts, but he’d underestimated her. 

And now Shiro was dead.

Keith wiped the spit and bile from his mouth and stared down at his brother from the corner of his eye. He didn’t know what he was feeling, he’d never felt pain seeing someone die before, but he knew it, instinctively.

Shiro was dead, and he was devastated.

It felt like iron curling under the forced heat of manmade manipulated tools. It melted him from the inside, and he couldn’t break out of it, he couldn’t even move--

Lance shouted from behind him and crashed to the floor. Keith moved as a man came up and tried to shot him from the back. He stood and ran, slamming his body into the man’s before he could shoot Lance in the face.

He beat the man’s face in, over and over. His knuckles were raw and his face was hot, wet, contorted in fury. He beat his face until the skin fell off and his nose buckled into his skull. The man felt like puddy underneath him, but Keith gave one last punch and looked at Lance.

Lance lay down, arms spread wide. Keith half expected to see him smiling or laughing, like they were at the beach again, and the sun would’ve warmed his skin by now. His skin would be soft from the sand rubbed over him.

Keith fell beside him and heard shouts from outside the building, sirens.

Police.

“Hey, babe,” Lance said. His eyes glowed and his body shook. He was hurt. “Wanna get outta here?”

Keith heard the sirens calling for him and swallowed. A lump tried to work its way down his throat. He was done.


	95. Life

Pidge was on ephedrine. They were giggling and making snow angels, or dirt angels Shiro supposed, in the garden below the terrace.

Lance and Keith were fucking somewhere in the house, but Shiro didn’t pay much attention. He sat next to Hunk, who delicately picked a few leaves from one of his herb bushes and tucked it into the cup he’d brought out.

Pidge mumbled under his breathe and Shiro smiled as Pidge seem to laugh at his own words, tripping over them with chuckles.

Hunk leaned and joined Shiro on the ground, placing the herbs beside him. He picked up his pipe from the ground and lit it up with a small flame that freckled his deep brown eyes. He took a hit and offered it to Shiro.

Shiro mentally shrugged and took the pipe. He placed it between his lips, hitting the rest of the green Hunk had considerately left for him and inhaling deeply.

He held the smoke in his mouth before breathing it in. It caressed his lungs, seeping down into his bloodstream, and Shiro shut his eyes to the world and lay down with the sun beaming on his face, and Pidge’s laughter in the background.

He could hear Hunk breathing deeply beside him. He heard bangs and clanks behind him in the mansion, like a rhythm his mood was meant to follow.

Shiro had never really partaken in music. But the symphony of sound around him dove deep into his belly and up through his heart. It was emotional, it was beautiful, it was life all around him and Shiro was part of it.

For a moment, Shiro was part of it.


	96. Kintsugi

“If you could be anything, what would you be?” Pidge posed the question.

Lance pretended to think it over. He hummed and hawed, holding up his hands and moving them like he was weighing two options.

“I would say,” he said in a high-pitched and thoughtful manner before dropping the act to stare at Pidge glumly. “ _ Not _ a drug dealer.”

“Or a brother-fucker?” she grinned and Lance laughed.

“Oh no, I’d still be a brother-fucker,” he assured her.

Pidge stopped laughing and frowned, expression turning meaningful. “But seriously. What do you want to do? If all this–” he gestured around him, arms in the air gesticulating randomly, “–wasn’t in the way. What would you want to do?”

Lance looked into her brown eyes and pursed his lips. Did she really want to know, or was she just trying to dream again?

Pidge didn’t look him in the eye. They continued to wave their hand through the air, like a bird would fly through the sky. Graceful and arching, their palm moved through space and Lance felt his cheek twitch in a wry smile.

He opened his mouth and then closed it. He watched her hand flutter to the ground, still.

“A pilot,” he said honestly. “I’d want to be a pilot.”

“Have you ever flown before?”

“Not in a plane,” he grinned knowingly, and Pidge scoffed.

“You shouldn’t joke about that. We were all scared.”

“Oh yes, terrified I’m sure. What would you do without the coked-out psycho running through the halls and misplacing centuries’ old vases?” Lance shrugged dramatically and then laid down beside them in a fast fluid motion, his temple resting at the crown of their head. “Chaos would ensue.”

Pidge reached up and Lance assumed he was beginning his hand-flying again, but he was wrong. Pidge found Lance’s cheek and slapped it.

“ _ Ow, _ you jerk!” Lance said, rubbing his cheek and shoving her shoulder away from him indignantly. “That hurt!”

“Good,” he said petulantly. “You shouldn’t presume we  _ wouldn’t _ miss your coked-out ass.”

Lance was silent as he continued to rub his stinging cheek. A warmth flooded his face he couldn’t credit their slap to, but rather Pidge’s words were the culprits.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, going for a toneless sarcasm. “You all love me, yes I know. I’m so loveable.” A bit too much bitterness seeped into his voice, and Pidge noticed.

Lance flinched when she reached back again, but this time instead of a slap, she merely rested her fingers in his hair, clutching the strands gently.

“We do,” they said. Lance’s heart lurched in his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Who’ve thought the broken pigeon he found would be the one piecing  _ him  _ together.

“Idiot,” she finished softly. They slept peacefully on the kitchen floor until morning.


	97. Sentencing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is absolutely Allura’s theme song: [Aw yiss](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BS74kXPRyoc)  
> Also “Gucci Coochie” by Die Antwoord. Trust me.
> 
> Also in case anyone is re-reading this (ha, sure) I've changed Allura's inmate friend. I think this fits a lot better. ;)

"So? What’re you in for? Drugs?” The girl asked across from Allura. She had long blonde hair and with arms so thin they looked like twigs. Too skinny and clearly anorexic, but she was still pretty in her own way. Her voice sounded like a child’s. Altogether, she was both everything and nothing like what Allura had imagined the inmates to look like.

Allura frowned and poked her plastic utensil at the muck they called food. “I thought asking this was forbidden?” Allura said, sidestepping the question.

The girl laughed and it sounded like bells tinkling. “Nah. Well,  _ you _ can’t ask it. But I’m a seasoned veteran so I have that privilege. So? I’m right, right? It’s definitely drugs. Probably cocaine? You look too rich for this joint.”

Allura grinned. “I am too rich for this joint.”

The girl held out her hand for Allura to shake. “I’m Nyma.”

“Allura,” she introduced herself, lightly taking the thin fingers and receiving a weak, flimsy up-and-down motion. Nyma grinned and took a bite of her food while Allura looked around them suspiciously.

“Don’t look so bitchy,” Nyma said. Allura looked at her and Nyma almost choked on her food in laughter. “Yeah like that, don’t look like that. Or else I might be your only friend.”

“We’re friends?” she asked. Hearing her own voice she inwardly cringed. She did sound like a bitch.

Nyma shrugged and rolled her eyes. “You look like you actually care about hygiene. I'm tired of hanging out with these old, ugly bitches. Pretty girls should stick together.” She winked.

Nyma went back to poking at her food and Allura stared at her, contemplating. “Why? Why on earth would you want to be my friend?” She gave Nyma a wary look. “You know I’m not...I don’t like women. That way.”

Nyma furrowed her eyebrows and stuck out her tongue in a vomit-like gesture. Allura blushed. Her stomach curled a bit and it felt too much like when Nidhi admonished her for throwing her laundry on the floor.

“You’re a suspicious one,” Nyma said before shrugging less amiably. “You looked like you need a friend, but hey, if I’m not welcome here--” she began to get up and before she knew what she was doing, Allura shot out her hand and gripped Nyma’s elbow.

“No I’m sorry, that was rude. I--I just--I’m not used to--”

“Not having to manipulate someone into being nice to you.”

Allura felt all the blood rush to her face. She couldn’t decide if she was angry or humiliated, but Nyma just laughed.

“Girl, you  _ are _ gorgeous. I've been in your shoes before.” She sat back down and Allura let out a sigh of relief. She gave Nyma a small smile and took a small bite of her food. It was awful.

“I killed a few people,” Allura said and Nyma's mouth dropped while her eyes ignited. Schadenfreude. “And got some people killed. My boyfriend of sorts, and his brothers. I think--” Allura frowned and looked into the gravy of her mashed potatoes. It felt like the only thing in the room that was grounding her. “I think I regret it.”

“We all have a lot of regrets,” Nyma said. She reached over and patted Allura’s hand. “But the past isn’t a life sentence.”

“Well, actually--”

“The  _ past _ isn’t what defines you. The now does. The shitty people we knew before," Nyma frowned and flicked a pea with her fork, "are gone. Being in here is actually liberating to being outside. Here, nothing fucking matters. Our lives, our motivations, whatever. The nothingness _sets you free_." Nyma laughed cruelly and smashed her macaroni with her fork.

Allura looked at Nyma and wondered if her mother had sent her. A guardian angel. She smiled.

“Thank you,” she said quietly and took another bite of mashed potatoes.

Nyma rolled her eyes and Allura smiled a little wider. “No problem. It’s what friends are for.”

Allura put down her fork and slid her fingers under her chin. She tilted her head a bit and nodded to the rest of the room.

“And speaking of friends,” she said, voice smooth like a viper. She tapped her foot against the linoleum of the floor and listened to the chatter around her. The inmates ate the slop she ate and wore the clothes she did, but Allura was still different from them. Better.

She always would be.

“Who runs this place?”

 


	98. Summer, after

Hunk whined, mouth open and hands reaching out as he glanced from side to side, a nervous wreck.

“Oh God, Katie, Katieeeeee,” he groaned. “I can only count 49 sheep. Coran said there were 50! We are down a sheep, Katie. It’s MIA. Call Sheep Protection Services. Call Sheep-11. Is there a 911 equivalent to lost sheep in this country? I feel like it would be a big deal here. Katieeeee!”

He ran out a few steps, rushing back to the fence to count again, mumbling under his breath while Katie shrugged and went back to building a raised bed for his greenhouse.

Australia was hot as hell and might be a desert, but that was no excuse to not be able to grow strawberries. If Katie could get this rigged, they could possibly have berries within months. Now that was something worth focusing on.

“Katie oh my god, it’s gone okay? It’s gone! I’m a sheep killer, I’ve been on the job for a week and I’ve already lost a sheep. That poor sheep, what’s it’s mama gonna think? Oh Katie, oh Katie--” Hunk lamented, and Katie sighed, shaking their head and turning around to Hunk.

“I’m sure it’s around, just maybe look beyond this area? I mean, that barn is blocking a patch still fenced, maybe check over there?” she suggested and Hunk paused mid-moan and looked out toward the horizon.

“Uh, okay, Imma be right back,” Hunk said and flew over the fence, hopping over it with surprising grace. Katie smiled and went back to his bed. His fingers felt raw from handling the wood, but calluses were building, and Katie had a strange pride in that.

A few minutes later when Hunk returned, he was cradling a large sheep in his arms. “Katie, look! I found her! You little devil, you!” he chided the sheep, who merely “baa”ed in return. Hunk gently put the sheep back onto the ground and Katie watched it scamper away from their giant friend. Hunk sighed, placing his hands on his hips, momentarily content. 

Katie watched his face scrunch back into an anxious ball of puddy when he’d realized something else though. “Oh my God Katie did I leave the stove on?”

Katie sighed and dropped her nails and hammer. She walked over and leaned against the fence. “You know Hunk, I know you took the weed for your anxiety. If it helps, you can take it again.”

Hunk stared at her, eyes wide and mouth low in open-faced surprise. “Wh-what? No, Katie, no, I don’t need it.”

Katie frowned and glared at him, in all seriousness. “Hunk, it’s also medicinal. I’m aware of this. You can take drugs if you need them. Your health is important.”

Hunk let out a breath slowly, looking at Katie carefully. Katie looked down at his hands and plucked at the wood. He really wanted, more than anything, for Hunk to be well.

Because Katie was well now, and Hunk deserved everything, after all they’d been through…

Hunk deserved everything.

Hunk came close enough to block the sun from Katie’s eyes. They looked up at Hunk, and Hunk dropped his hand to Katie’s shoulder.

“No Katie. I don’t need them right now. One day, maybe. But right now, we don’t need them.”

Hunk’s face was everything Katie remembered in her best moments. Hunk had always been the warmth of the sun on her face, even in the iciest times.

“Okay,” they said. They went back to their plans for strawberries in fall, and Hunk went back inside to double check he really hadn’t left the stove on. Because, priorities.


	99. Sometimes, the fall comes first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> due to spoilers, warnings at the end of chapter notes
> 
> Also, listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5FTnVBO67g) either before or after the chapter.

Lance’s toes danced over the edge. He wiggled them in their boots, and the motion guided his body forward, then back.

He looked over at Keith. His hair was blowing in the wind. Lance scoffed. It was too long, it looked stupid, nothing at all like it might in the movies, when the hero was dragged to the edge and staring down his only option to get away, away from the villains.

Lance’s leg would crumple at any moment though, so they really had to go now. He could feel the steps from behind them give under the weight of their enemy as they pressed upward in pursuit of Keith and him. They were the last two.

Hunk...Pidge…

Lance let it go. 

He grabbed Keith’s hand and pulled him onto the ledge. Keith’s footsteps sounded like stones dropping off a cliff. Soon, Lance grinned, soon enough they would be.

“Let’s go down swingin’,” Lance shouted over the noise of the wind in his ears. He was half-deaf after all the shooting.

Keith stared back at him and nodded. His fingers were cold in Lance’s hand. He wondered if hell would warm them up, jokingly, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

“I’m all in,” Keith whispered hoarsely. Lance smiled, and Keith, he looked back at Lance. It was enough.

Lance stared down the side of the building, down the 40 floors that ended at the sidewalk. One where people walked, ran, drove strollers down. Now it would be their gateway.

He leaned his head back and looked at the stars. They followed him wherever he went. When he was outside his burning home as a three-year-old, when he got that bike at eight, when he’d met Keith at thirteen, and now in his last moments, at nineteen.

He gripped Keith’s hand firmly and pulled, letting his weight guide him forward just as the doors behind them blew open. Officers shouted and guns were cocked and aimed, but none of it mattered because it was too late, gravity had won.

Lance and Keith gave each other once last look and they took one final breath of air, one last glimpse of the other before it all ended.

And then they jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: suicide
> 
> And now, the epilogue


	100. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...that's all folks. 
> 
> Author's notes beneath the epilogue.

Matt’s hands trembled as he placed his keys on the counter. Maria still wasn’t home from picking up Joshua at daycare, so he had at least the next thirty minutes to himself.

He clutched the small post-it in his hand. It was nearly crumbling from all the times he opened it only to crush it in his palm again. The mess of paper was discolored from his sweat and some spilled coffee and it wasn’t even a few hours old.

But after ten years of waiting to get this number, he figured he had a right to any erratic behavior caused by the note that contained fourteen digits.

Matt turned on the fireplace with the remote and brought the landline over to sit in front of him. His hands were still trembling as he unfolded the post-it, again, and read the numbers. The three was smudged a bit, and his breath caught in his throat when he blanched for a moment, an instant of fear when he couldn’t remember if maybe it was really an eight.

But it was a three. He had the number. Now he just needed to dial it.

011.

61.

5.

Matt took a breath. He held it, and then exhaled. After all this time, it almost felt too easy, as though such minimal movements of his fingers could bridge the gap time had unraveled, in only seconds.

Matt had followed the trial closely. After Katie first-- _after looking behind him and she wasn’t there, wasn’t anywhere, gone, vanished, evaporated like a dream--_ Matt and his father had called every agency. Months passed and no word, no good news, only backlogged calls and outdated information. Slammed fists on tables and angry tears turned into permanent frowns and misty eyes.

His parents had died not knowing what had happened to their daughter, to Katie, and with one phone call, Matt could visit their gravestones with a sense of relief. Closure didn’t often happen for kidnapped victims’ families. Matt knew he was lucky.

The Alaskan sun shone directly into his eyes, and Matt let the light blind him as he struggled to enter the last digits.

0228\. 04.

03.

The phone rang. A click.

“Hello?”

Matt couldn’t breathe.

“Katie?” His voice was bubbling from tears, tears that had erupted so suddenly he wasn’t sure he even was crying. He was afraid now, afraid she wouldn’t be able to recognize his voice. Ten years gone. Ten years and no longer a child. Who was the Katie on the other end of the line? Would she hate him, _despise_ him for not being able to find her for so long?

How would he fit into her life?

The silence from the other line told him everything. It told him nothing. He wept silently, pain flashing between his eyes from years of tension released. For better or for worse, there would be closure.

A crack on the line and Matt’s chest shuddered.

“...Matt?”

Matt’s breath flowed like a dam breaking. “ _Katie_.”

“Matt,” Katie said, and her voice was beautiful, it sang to him.

The sunlight shined through the glass window, but it was no longer as bright as it’d been. It softened, creating a glow that was so familiar it pained him.

“I knew we’d find each other,” Katie smiled over the phone.

And at last, they had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

* * *

 

_Character backgrounds: (Stricken ideas discarded)_

Shiro: Violent Bipolar. Oldest son of Zarkon. His mother was the daughter of a yakuza boss. Zarkon killed everyone in their family when he’d learned about Shiro and then took him with him, where’s he’s been living in the mansion and being trained to take over the business. Experienced copious amount of childhood trauma and abuse.

Keith: Sociopath. Youngest son of Zarkon. Mother was a Korean prostitute. As far as anyone knows, she’s still alive and kicking in Busan. When Keith was old enough, his mother packed his things and put him on a plane, sending him to Zarkon. Zarkon almost killed him, but figured he could eventually use him to create rivalry with Shiro. That plan never worked out, but Keith has never been the ambitious type.

Lance: Cocaine and Adrenaline Junkie. Family died in a fire when he was three. Moved around by the state to a few families, then he ~~ran away from his foster home~~ and was taken in by one of Zarkon’s underbosses. Haggar thought he’d be useful to try and peddle cocaine to other kids, so Zarkon took him into the mansion with Keith and Shiro. Keith and Lance have tried to keep their relationship a secret from him, but Zarkon knows everything.

Pidge: Heroin and Cocaine Junkie. Abducted ~~in her bed~~ while their family was on vacation. She was pumped full of drugs and brought in to test the heroin supply. They kept him drugged for so long it caused periods of amnesia, and he doesn’t remember his family, or where he came from. Zarkon placed them in the family as a reminder for anyone who disobeys him. She’s leverage.

Hunk: Pothead, Genius, Drugdealer. Not technically part of the family. Lance’s friend, ~~brought first to share some weed~~ , but then Pidge grew very fond of him, as did Shiro. Keith was always suspicious of Hunk until one day Keith saw Hunk throwing out Pidge’s stash of heroin. The two work together to try and wean her off it. Can never be around when Zarkon is around, otherwise he’d probably be killed.

Allura: Daughter of the murdered Altea mafia family. Muslim, from Jammu and Kashmir, had to leave country with father (from India with fake Indian passports) after mother was killed by a military officer due to extra-judicial torture.  Father killed by Zarkon in a double-crossing using Nidhi as a double agent for the Galra, so she wants revenge against Zarkon, ~~falls in love~~  and eventually uses and manipulated Shiro, killing off as many of the Galra as she can. Eventually she goes insane and is taken into prison. (Where she rules the shit out of the joint.)

Coran: Part of the witness protection program. After Pidge and Hunk get involved with the whole mafia war ~~but Zarkon is still not caught~~ , they get sent to Australia and live on a sheep farm with Coran, who is their protector and guardian.

Haggar: ~~Had been in love with Allura’s father, and had been a dirty cop helping him out. Cocaine addict. She met Zarkon who got her extremely high and convinced her to kill Allura’s father. After doing so, she felt joining Zarkon would be the only course of action for her, so she dedicated herself to Zarkon for the rest of her life.~~   Former dirty cop, addict, pedophile and basically just a demented soul. Fun fact: Keith scares the shit out of her.

Zarkon: Evil motherfucker. Kills everyone. Sociopath. Terrible fucking person.

* * *

 

_Character relationships:_

The Hanged One

Shiro > Keith: thinks he’s trustworthy, reliable, his brother. Would trust him with his life.

Shiro > Lance: thinks he’s a wild card. Loves him, but sees him as someone who needs to be straightened out. Abusive.

Shiro > Pidge: a broken animal. Someone to comfort and care for, at the cost of his own well being.

Shiro > Hunk: sees as dependable. Useful around the house, can distract Lance when necessary, and takes care of Pidge. Grateful.

Shiro > Allura: worship.

 

The Deranged One

Keith > Shiro: His ally, his brother, the only person he can trust. Would die for him in a heartbeat.

Keith > Lance: someone he can control absolutely, so really the most important to him. Possessive.

Keith > Pidge: sees as a weakness. Doesn’t understand why Pidge is around, but accepts them because of Shiro.

Keith > Hunk: He likes his food so he lets him stay around. Often sees him as a rival for Lance’s attention though, which he takes out on Lance.

Keith > Allura: enemy.

 

The Perceptive One

Lance > Shiro: his hero, puts him on a pedestal and enjoys any kind of attention from him, even pain.

Lance > Keith: his first and foremost competitor, someone he enjoys competing with. His lover, his equal.

Lance > Pidge: sees Pidge as an innocent, who she really is. Understands that Pidge deserves better than what she got.

Lance > Hunk: his best friend, the kindest soul he knows. Understands that Hunk brings humanity into their home.

Lance > Allura: rapture.

 

The Brave One

Pidge > Shiro: their source of comfort. Inherently knows that Shiro is the gatekeeper between him and freedom.

Pidge > Keith: does not trust him, since he is impulsive and has no moral conscience. Wary.

Pidge > Lance: sees Lance as what she could become. He is a warning, so she often degrades him subconsciously.

Pidge > Hunk: his friend, his most trusted, since Hunk is the most human of them all. Comfort.

Pidge > Allura: envy.

 

The Steadfast One

Hunk > Shiro: wary, knows Shiro only keeps him around because of his usefulness. Feels badly for him.

Hunk > Keith: also wary, knows that he is beyond redeeming, will always reek of death.

Hunk > Lance: friend, sees the joy in Lance that he once had, his yearning to be free and live.

Hunk > Pidge: friend, always tries to be there for them, will always be there for them.

Hunk > Allura: concern.

 

The Lost One

Allura > Shiro: useful, a tool, destructible.

Allura > Keith: enemy, annihilate.

Allura > Lance: disposable.

Allura> Pidge: disposable.

Allura > Hunk: disposable.


End file.
